


Request Fics

by baconnegg



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Blow Jobs, Cock-Blocking, Conventions, Crack, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Fairy Tales, Fluff, Friendship, Fuckbuddies, Get Together, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, Kittens, Knee sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Making Out, Multi, Nerdiness, Oral Sex, Pets, SSC, Science Bros, Sex, Sexual Content, Sickfic, Smut, Texting, texts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:42:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baconnegg/pseuds/baconnegg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hello all! In honour of my Texts From Last Tony fic getting over 10 000 hits on here, I'll be taking fic requests at my tumblr from now until I have too many! I've decided to also post them here so that you might enjoy them as well!</p><p>Here's the post with all the info: http://baconnegg.tumblr.com/post/29483951261/10-000</p><p>Thanks for reading <3!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Whiskeydick" Would Be a Great Name for a Band

**Author's Note:**

> A request for Tony getting drunk at a party, wanting to get in Steve's pants, and one of his vices blocking another, from sarimia.
> 
> Bonus: This fic becomes crackishly hilarious if you have "Stupid Cupid" playing in the background or in your head while reading it. Sorry. This fic has put me in an odd mood. Blame Jessie.

Ah, Saint Patrick's Day. Nothing like dressing in green and getting so drunk you can't even see straight in the name of heritage.

Not that Steve was cynical. That was one of the things that was still the same in the future: People loved an excuse to party. Especially if it involved alcohol. And especially if your name was Tony Stark.

Steve moves carefully through the throng of people in Tony's living room. Mostly friends of Tony he had never met, but occasionally he brushed past an Avenger. He edges his way by the crowd gathered around Natasha, who was hanging from the ceiling while drinking out of a contraption made from a large wristwatch, a cereal bowl, and a lot of rubber hosing. He briefly considers asking, but decides he's probably better off without the answer.

In the kitchen, he refills his green beer. He couldn't get drunk anymore, but Tony bought good stuff and he'd hate to be that one guy drinking water.

"Hey Cap!" Clint's voice behind him, shouting over the loud, terrible music. "Could you deal with this?"

Steve turns, expecting to see something broken or on fire or both, but instead sees a sloshed Tony being held up by the armpits. He was attempting to reach around and grope Clint's upper thigh. But he'd lost his depth perception and was just kind of smacking Clint on the hip.

"He's all yours, pal. Have fun." Clint more or less shoves Tony in Steve's direction. Steve catches him, but is unsure how to proceed.

"Uh-hey wait!" Clint had already headed back into the crowd of partygoers. "Damn it. Um, hey Tony, you alright?"

"Huh? Oh hey, Steve, heyyyyy," Tony's head lolls back and he grabs at the taller man's sleeve. "I'm fiiiiine. Hey, Steve. Hey, that shirt looks nice on you. Would look even better on my floor. C'mere."

Steve had seen Tony drunk before. But only less drunk (goofy and annoying) or more drunk (blacked out) than this. Damn it. What did Clint expect him to do with this?

That became abundantly clear as Tony clumsily climbs Steve like a tree and starts using lips, tongue, and teeth on his neck and putting his hands seemingly everywhere. Okay. He could definitely deal with this.

"Hold on, let's get to a bedroom first," Steve says quickly as Tony manages to get his top buttons undone. He slings the lush over his shoulder and heads for the elevator. Tony gripes about losing access to the "fun parts," but soon entertains himself with groping Steve's ass.

The less-than-a-minute that it takes to get to Tony's bedroom gives Steve time to plan out Operation Put Horny Drunk Tony to Bed. He'd make out with him a bit, lend him a hand, and make sure he was asleep and within close distance of the bathroom before leaving.

Despite the filthy things Tony tells him making his skin heat up, Steve is not interested in taking advantage of Tony while he's like this. It wouldn't be right. Any urges of his own could be easily remedied with a long shower and a little imagination. It's not like he really wants to go back to the party anyways.

And even if he wasn't of that mindset, Tony was extremely uncoordinated and lacking in forethought (or most thought, really) at the moment. Super healing abilities were nice, but there were some areas Steve preferred to just keep uninjured in the first place.

Steve sets Tony on his unsteady feet near the bed and lets him go to town. Tony latches on gleefully and goes right to devouring Steve's face and groping everything he can reach. It's not so bad. Lacking in his usual finesse, but making up for it in enthusiasm. Not to mention the dirty talk. Steve doesn't know what half the words meant, but he'll have fun asking Tony later.

A few minutes pass, and Steve notices Tony seems a little, well, frustrated. Every time he (badly) tries to grind his hips against Steve's, he makes a throaty growling noise. Every few seconds, he stops to curse at himself, in the short, half-formed way he does when he burns himself in the lab. His movements were gradually becoming more frantic.

Steve grasps Tony's shoulders and pushes him back a little. "Tony, are you okay?"

Tony shakes Steve's arms loose and stumbles backwards to plop down on the bed. He crosses his arms, glares down at his lap, and pulls his most pathetic pout.

Steve is confused momentarily, until he remembers some advice Bucky once gave him. It's all he can do not to snicker. He moves to help Tony out of his clothes. "I guess that's all the fun you're going to be having tonight."

"No! Nooo, I want. I want _this._ " Tony awkwardly grabs at Steve's prominent abdominal muscles.

Steve grins with shameless smarm. "Well, maybe if you didn't drink so much you could get _this_ more often."

Tony whines loudly, but grudgingly allows himself to be undressed and tucked in.

* * *

Pepper enters Stark Tower a few days later, pleased to see that it's recovered from the damage. Her satisfaction quickly dissipates and is replaced by gnawing fear. The last time Tony asked her to come down to his workshop in a hurry, she had to reach into a gooey metal tube in his chest. Not that Pepper minded the saving his life part, she'd just rather not repeat the experience.

She breathes a sigh of relief as she taps in the code. Happy to see him on his feet and tossing holograms around like normal.

"Hey Pep! Hold your phone up for me, would you?" When she does, Tony throws a ball of holographic code at it. It hits her phone before she can dodge it, and a row of boxes and a keyboard appear on the screen.

"What the hell did you just do?"

"It's for something really important. Just type in a password, make sure it's something I can't guess-"

"I'm not doing anything until you tell me what you did to my phone-"

"-Pepper, come on-"

"-I am not your guinea pig, Tony Stark! Furthermore,-"

"Listen!" Tony grabs her wrists and looks her in the eye. "It's for something really fucking important, with a capital goddamn. I promise I'll explain in just a second. Just make up a password, and be sure to pick something I can't guess."

With memories of the arc reactor's early days rushing to the surface, Pepper's mind clears and she comes up with something Tony could never guess, even with his genius brain. Before she starts typing, Tony turns away from her, puts his hands over his ears, and hums what sounds like the _Jeopardy_ theme.

"Okay, I did it. Now will you tell me what it's for?" She taps him on the shoulder. "Uh, Tony?"

"Oh! Thanks. JARVIS, be sure to permanently delete the footage of Ms. Potts typing that, can never be too careful. Come this way, Pepper." Tony leads her over to the middle of the holograms and brings up several charts and pages of code.

"What you just typed in was the password for a personal security system," Tony brings some of the holograms down to her eye-level like she's supposed to understand them. "It's connected to JARVIS and monitors how much and what types of alcohol I have in the house. When it comes to parties, it'll keep track of how much I actually have on my person. I can only have enough to get me a bit inebriated. A little social lubrication, if you would.

"If I have too much in the house or on me, you'll get an alert sent to your phone. When that happens, you don't have to come handle the situation yourself. Just text Steve and tell him. Trust me, he'll be more than happy to help. I'm just letting you be the official go-to person because you're neither affected by my puppy eyes, nor will you abuse it to steal my expensive booze. Sound good?"

Pepper stands there, rubbing her temples and wanting a drink herself. "And what is the purpose of all this?"

"I'm easing up on the drinking," Tony pads across the workshop and Pepper follows dutifully behind. "I'm not quitting entirely, oh no. But there'll be no more binges, no more blackouts, and no more cockblocking."

"Well that's very mature of you-Wait, what?"

"It was a matter of getting my priorities in order." Tony reaches into the kitchenette fridge and retrieves two cans of soda. "It'd be pretty stupid if I kept picking the thing that is temporarily fun, but makes me forget most of the fun and gives me hangovers, over the thing that is also temporarily fun, but I can remember entirely and doesn't give me hangovers. Well, not usually."

He hands Pepper one of the cans, opens his, and lifts it in the air. "A toast to changing bad habits?"

Pepper clinks her can against his, takes a sip, and then pours the rest over his head. Tony wipes it out of his eyes, but remains still and silent. He's known her long enough to know that it's best to just wait for an explanation rather than ask for one.

"Whatever your reasons are, I'm very, _very_ glad you've decided to stop drinking so much." Pepper leans over and carefully pecks him on a sticky cheek. "But if you ever fool me into thinking your actual life, rather than just your sex life, is in danger again, I will bake you into a pie and have you for dinner. Good day, sir."

Pepper swiftly click-clacks out of the workshop and up the stairs. Tony shrugs and starts polishing off his soda, before swallowing wrong and sputtering. "Hey! 'Just?!'"

**_ FIN _ **


	2. Six Avengers and a Kitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request for KITTENFIC from sarimia. (I may have taken it in a slightly different direction than you intended but uh, yolo?)
> 
> Suddenly occurs to me I've never written animals before. Huh.
> 
> This is a hairball of a fic but just I don't even know FLUFFY KITTENS.

Clint raps on Natasha's bedroom door. He doesn't have to knock anymore, they've known each other too long, but he likes being a gentleman about some things.

"Come in." He opens the door and shuffles over to Natasha. She's curled up against the headboard with a thick book and a small furball against her stomach.

"I yelled at Phil today," Clint flops down beside her. "Didn't mean to, it just happened."

Natasha dog-ears a page and puts the book aside. "About what?"

"It's just-" Clint presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, pushing back his own frustration. "A year. Why did he have to hide for a _year_ afterwards? That's just goddamn overkill if you ask me. So I let him have it, got all my anger out. Good thing that office is soundproofed or I'd definitely be on probation. Again."

"I think if that office wasn't soundproofed, you'd both be on probation several times over." Natasha smirks briefly, but Clint doesn't. "You just said what everyone else has been thinking since he came back. I'm really surprised you didn't do it sooner."

"I didn't want to be angry at him, after all he's done for us. Hell, he saved the world as much as we did. And after all me and him have been through..." Clint reaches over and pets the furball on Natasha's lap. "I felt like a rescued stray biting its owner. Sorry, I know I sound like a moron."

The furball stretches, revealing its grey-striped tabby identity, and walks over to Clint. Clint indulges the animal in a bellyrub as it purrs and nuzzles his chest. "In one of my finest moments, I told him he wasn't getting his cat back."

Natasha cracks up. "Sorry, you're just such a princess sometimes." She easily dodges Clint's swipe at her. "Anyways, you don't have to worry. Coulson gave her to me a while ago. He said he thought something would happen to him way before anything happened to me."

The slight smile disappears from Clint's face. "Not to be a 'princess,' but why you and not me?"

"It was eight years ago, before you two were as close as you are now. He'd just rescued her and we kind of 'shared custody' for a while."

"Oh, okay. I understa-Wait, eight years ago?" Clint looks down at the small creature rubbing against his hand. "Rosie, I thought you were a kitten. Phil and Tasha should have told me about you earlier."

"Sorry about that. All she did was hide under furniture for a long time, you would have never seen her."

Clint grunts affirmatively and pets Rosie for a while. She purrs happily and looks up at him, green eyes full of love. "I'll find a way apologize to him soon. I hope I didn't do too much damage."

"It's Coulson, I don't think he's going to keel over because you yelled at him." She reaches over to scratch Rosie behind the ears. "It'll be fine."

"If you say so, Tasha."

"I do say so, Clint."

* * *

Bruce lays on his back in bed, flicking through the news on his tablet. He tries to move as little possible, being the Other Guy for four hours was taxing on his...everything. Or had it been five hours? Six? Who knows, who cares.

While frowning at a photo of the Hulk stomping a Mercedes, he notices the door push open. He shouldn't have left it ajar. The last thing he needed right now was a "Never mind what the news says, they don't know you, they don't matter," pep talk. He sets his tablet aside and sits up with a wince.

Strolling into the room was not one of his teammates, but Coulson's cat. Natasha had brought Rosie with her when they all moved into Stark Tower. Rosie meows loudly before running and jumping onto the bed beside him.

"No, no, no," Bruce carefully scoops her up and sets her back on the floor. "Get going, go bother someone else."

He shakes his head as Rosie uses her claws to spider-crawl back up onto the bed. He's never felt safe around small animals. He doesn't feel safe around anyone, but the possibility of seriously harming something as innocent as a fluffy little kitten seemed especially heinous.

"Go on, shoo!" Bruce waves a hand in front of her face, she reaches up and bats at it with her paw. Sigh. He couldn't even get properly annoyed at the cat like the others could. "If I put you out in the hall, you're just going to cry and scratch at the door, aren't you?" Rosie meowed brightly. "I thought so."

Bruce lays down and rolls onto his side, away from Rosie. Maybe if he ignored her, she'd go away.

No such luck. A moment later he feels her climbing over his hip and around to his face. Bruce lets out an indignant huff, couldn't a man wallow in self-pity without being disturbed? At least she kept her claws in. He opens his eyes to find her staring intently at his face. "What?"

Rosie leans closer and quickly licks his nose, the roughness of her tongue tickling quite a bit. Well, maybe he could just pet her for a little while. Stroking animals was supposed to lower your blood pressure, right? The risk was low.

Bruce strokes and scratches her for a good fifteen minutes, losing himself in the softness of her fur and the rhythm of her exceptionally loud purring. When he reaches up to scratch her chin, Rosie wraps all four legs around his hand and clings to it, claws still in.

At that, Bruce sets his tablet and glasses on the side-table, closes the door, and then gets under the covers. He pats the space beside his chest and Rosie happily complies, tucking her head under his chin. He checks to make sure his heart monitor bracelet is working, to be sure that his usual nightmares won't spell the end for the little animal. He rests a hand on her back and runs his fingers through her fur until he falls asleep.

The next morning, Clint knocks on Bruce's door before sticking his head in. "I'm going to get some coffee. Do you want-Oh hey, who's your new friend?"

Bruce gives a lazy smile and continues petting the cat curled up on his chest. "Rosie and I were just having a fascinating discussion. All about the meaning of life, an individual's place in the universe, and if Clint would please get us a breakfast burrito as long as we promised to pay him back?"

Clint grins back. "Sure thing."

* * *

Despite Rosie officially being Natasha's cat, Steve takes over cat caretaking duties when they all move into the tower together.

Not that there's much to do. Tony, being Tony, creates a self-cleaning litter box, has her food delivered along with the other groceries each week, and spends a rather large amount of time putting holes in the wall and creating an elaborate catwalk (no pun intended) system throughout the main living floors. Despite his and JARVIS' best efforts, Rosie had not been interested in learning how to use the elevator.

Everyone was oddly compliant with having holes and boards put through their walls, since it involved frequently waking up to an adorable cat hugging your face. Bruce's floor only had one leading to the hallway, and it had a few security protocols linked to JARVIS' monitoring of his heart rate.

Every morning, halfway between breakfast and lunch, Steve gives Rosie her food and water. He brushes her, though Rosie prefers to eat the brush rather than sit still and be groomed. Then they play for upwards of an hour. The other Avengers tease Steve about being a 'crazy old cat guy,' but he just laughs it off. In a future where nearly everything is automated, Steve often finds his days hard to fill.

Not today, though. "Sorry Rosie, not today." Steve smiles down at the cat, sitting at his feet with her crinkle ball in her mouth. "I have to get ready for my date with Tony."

Thankfully, cats can't talk, or Rosie might tell everyone about Steve's secret nervous habit: When he's alone and nervous, he asks himself questions. "Okay, third date. What do people wear for a third date? Should I just wear what I wore the other times?" Steve stares into his rather sparse closet, feeling a bit lost.

Rosie jumps up on the dresser beside it and meows. Steve absentmindedly pets her head. "Wait, are third dates significant? What if Tony is counting all the times we hang out together as dates and we already passed three a long time ago? Where is he even taking me? Why didn't he tell me earlier?"

Rosie mews in concern when Steve leans forward and shuts the closet door on his head a few times. "This is stupid. I'm a man, I shouldn't be acting like a fifteen-year-old girl. Love really does make people stupid, huh Rosie?"

Rosie meows, seemingly in agreement.

Steve nods, before stopping to think for a moment. "Wait, did I say 'love?' I did. Am I moving too fast? I mean, I feel like I'm in love, I want this to last, but what if he doesn't-Argh!" Steve rubs his face in frustration. "Forget it, I'm going to take my shower first and then decide. I'm just overthinking things, that's all."

Rosie patiently relaxes on Steve's dresser while he takes a shower. He comes out in boxers and an undershirt, looking just as lost as before. Rosie hops off the dresser, climbs the catwalk, and takes off.

"Abandon me in my time of need, why don't you?" Steve calls half-heartedly after her.

Rosie soon finds her way to Tony, who's in his room pulling his AC/DC t-shirt over his head. She rubs against his leg and is indulged with a snuggling session. After five minutes, she leaps out of his arms, runs to the door, and starts scratching and meowing insistently.

"What is it girl? Something I said?" Tony opens the door but Rosie continues meowing. "Oh wait, did Steve ask me to feed you today? Or did he ask me to order more food? One of the two." Rosie continues crying and Tony picks her up. "Alright, alright, let's go ask him."

A knock at the door makes Steve quickly pull on one of the two button-up shirts he was holding up before answering. He opens the door and Rosie jumps into his arms so fast he nearly drops her.

"I thought she was hungry, guess she just wanted you. Don't worry, I understand the feeling." Tony grins at a mildly flustered Steve. "Ready to go?"

"Uh, kind of," Steve tugs at the edge of his untucked shirt. "Where are we going? Is this okay?"

"We're just going to a little Italian place. I know the owner, so there'll be no paparazzi bothering us today. You're fine." Tony rubs the fabric of Steve's shirtcuff between his thumb and forefinger. "Got a little present for you downstairs, I think you'll like it."

Steve lets Rosie down and follows Tony out into the hall. "Present? What for?"

"For making it to three dates with me. Believe me when I say that's an accomplishment."

"Tony, you know I don't like it when you throw money at me."

"Aw, but Steve, it's just a little gift! I promise!"

The boys' bickering continues as they go down the hall. Rosie purrs to herself, satisfied in the fruits of her efforts. As a reward, she hops on Steve's bed and picks the softest spot to nap on.

* * *

"This would be so much easier if Steve would just let me make you a suit," Tony sighs. He smacks away some holograms and sets Rosie on an empty table. "Finding a way to protect you in case of an another alien invasion or something is proving more difficult than anticipated."

"Row?"

Tony pats her on the head. "Don't worry, I'll come up with something eventually. Unless Secret Agent Man taught you special ninja skills and I don't even have to. Did he?"

Rosie simply stares and blinks, large green eyes revealing nothing.

"I'll take that as a maybe." Tony sits on a chair and pulls her onto his lap, gently twirling the black tip of her tail as he thinks.

Small beeps and heavy footsteps echo from across the workshop, but Tony doesn't so much as flinch until a Starkphone is thrust into his face. "I believe this is yours?"

"Hey! My phone! I was wondering where that went."

Rhodey gives his friend a patronizing look. "It was in my bathroom. Don't bother having nice things if you're not going to look after them."

"Don't bother buying good liquor if you expect me to be responsible after drinking it."

"Smartass."

"Square."

"Square, really?" Rhodey chuckles in spite of himself. "Anyways, you said you had something new for my suit?"

"Oh, right! Gimme a sec." Tony gets up from the chair and sets Rosie in it before darting across the workshop.

Tony is gone from view long enough that Rhodey starts wondering if he fell into Narnia or something. Bored and impatient, he starts play-fighting with the cat. Rosie retaliates by biting and scratching at his hands. A few seconds pass and Rhodey feels something hard and metallic bounce off the back of his head.

"Hey!" Tony rushes past Rhodey to scoop up the cat. "What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem?" Tony glares at him while holding Rosie closer. "You're a grown man picking on a tiny little cat! Animal torture is the first sign of a serial killer, you know!"

"I-what," Rhodey shakes his head. "Tony, blink three times if the cat is an alien holding you hostage."

Tony pointedly stares at him before handing over a haphazardly folded piece of black fabric. "Now you get to figure that out on your own, because I'm not helping a soulless person who picks on kittens."

Rhodey unfolds the fabric and holds it up. "Tony, this is an undersuit."

"Nope, sorry, not helping."

"I don't need your help, it's a piece of cloth that you wear under the suit."

"Now you're being sassy. You know what? You can leave and come back when you feel like behaving yourself. I won't stand for any more of your shenanigans today."

Tony sits in the chair and turns away from him. Rhodey sighs, picks up the bolt Tony had chucked at his head, and heads out. He fires the bolt with pinpoint accuracy at Tony's skull just before shutting the door. Payback's a bitch.

* * *

"TWO!" Thor booms before disappearing back into his bedroom.

"I know it's a bit late in the game to ask this," Clint shifts against the wall, trying to sit more comfortably. "But why is Thor in there with Steve?"

"He probably feels guilty," Natasha says, dealing cards between them. "He's the one who, how did he put it, 'allowed Rosie to experience the great outdoors, not anticipating she would not return after chasing a small winged creature.'"

"Hell, it's Thor," Tony interjects from where he's sprawled on the floor. "He's probably psychically coaching her through labour or something. Can Norse gods talk to animals?" Bruce merely grunts, too involved in their chess game to properly respond.

"THREE!"

"I hope Phil won't be mad that we got his cat pregnant." Clint looks at his hand and frowns.

"As long as you don't phrase it like that, I don't think he'll be bothered." Tony smirks before looking back to his game. "Goddammit Bruce, I had the perfect plan to beat you in three moves. Why did you have to ruin that for me?"

The four sit in quiet anticipation, playing their games. Thor comes out at length and yells four, then five. After a long pause, he comes out again and starts passing Snickers bars to everyone.  
"It is done! You may come in and see momentarily, after we attend to the new mother!" Thor disappears behind the door once again.

"Is anyone else going to ask, or do I have to?" Clint looks quizzically at the chocolate bar in his hand.

"I think they're in lieu of cigars," Bruce says. "He has been watching a lot of TV lately."

A few minutes later, they're called inside. In a box against the far wall, Rosie looks proud and tired curled around five tiny, noisy kittens. A collective “Awwww!” goes up from the group.

"I don't think I've ever seen anything so cute in my entire life." Clint reaches out to stroke one, his finger looking enormous against the small body.

"They're so soft," Natasha does the same. "Like velvet."

"I kinda wonder who the father of these cuties is, but I guess we'll never know." Tony picks one up to rub its belly, making it mew loudly.

"Actually," Thor says seriously. "According to this feline manual I borrowed from Steve, they would all have different fathers."

"But she was only out for a day," Tony gives the purring cat a surprised look. "Wow, Rosie, you're kind of a slut."

"Tony, please don't call the cat that." Steve returns from washing up in the bathroom. "It's rude."

Clint pauses. "Thor, when did you learn to read?"

"The fair Jane taught me. She said I was a very quick learner."

"So I guess we have to find new owners for all these little guys." Bruce reaches out a tentative hand to pet the small, squawking creatures.

"I would like to give one to Jane, and another to Darcy." Thor's face falls a bit. "But I suppose it's not fair of me to 'call dibs' when I'm the one responsible for this predicament in the first place."

Steve walks over to pat Thor on the shoulder. "Don't be like that, you've apologized enough. Of course you can pick out two for Jane and Darcy, that's two we don't have to worry about finding good homes for."

"Just be sure to ask before you give," Tony cuts in. "Last thing you want is to give your girlfriend a present she's allergic to."

Thor nods. "An excellent idea."

"You're telling me."

* * *

"It's a nice place," Coulson says as they wander the halls of Stark Tower. "It's changed since the last time I was here."

"Yeah, well," Clint scratches the back of his neck. "I think we've all added our own touches since we've moved in."

They walk a bit further and Clint opens the door to Thor's room. Since the kittens were born, Thor had instituted an open-door policy, for better or for worse. Today he was off sparring with Natasha, so the two had some alone time.

"Hello, Rosie." Coulson reaches out to scratch his former pet behind the ears. Rosie meows a welcome but doesn't move, surrounded by eight-week-old kittens who are too old to nurse but are doing it anyway.

Clint takes a seat beside his kneeling companion. "She's a great mom, y'know, for a cat."

"She was always a nice girl at heart. You'd think she'd have a worse temperament. I mean, when I found her she was soaking wet, starving, and had obviously been kicked around a fair bit."

"Like me, right?"

Coulson looks at him and frowns. "Clint..."

"Never mind, sorry about that."

"You don't have to be sorry-"

"-Don't start with the touchy-feely stuff. I don't want to do that today. I just wanted you to see the kittens, that's all."

They sit in silence for several minutes, even Rosie keeps quiet. Coulson at last clears his throat and speaks. "Clint, I want us to start over."

Clint's face betrays no emotion. "You've been back for six months, I think we already did."

"You're still angry with me, and I don't blame you."

"It's not- Look, I understand why you did it, completely. And I'm so beyond happy to have you back that I'm surprised I haven't lost my mind and ran down the street naked and screaming or something. We've been over that. But..."

"I broke your trust."

Clint starts gnawing on a corner of his lip. "Yes."

"And if I have my way,- and I usually do, -it'll never happen again. But for now," Coulson reaches into his jacket pocket and retrieves a key, which he presses into Clint's hand. "I'd like to do things differently than I did before."

Clint raises an eyebrow. "A key?"

"To my apartment."

Clint rolls the small item around in his hand. Sharp, recently cut, but warm from Phil's pocket. "It's a start."

"I don't expect it to be anything more than that."

Clint closes the key tightly in his hand before grabbing a fistful of Phil's shirt with the other and tries to kiss him hard. It ends up being more gentle and innocent than anything else.

"I hope you won't be offended," Coulson turns a bit so Clint can rest his head on on his shoulder. "But I have another reason for giving you that key."

"Oh? Like what?"

"I wanted to get one of the kittens. I miss having a pet." Clint lifts his head up and looks at Coulson. "And I want you to help me take care of it."

Clint frowns skeptically. "Didn't you try that with Rosie?"

"Like I said, I want to do things differently now." A subtle smile comes over Coulson's face. "But it's up to you."

Clint thinks for a moment, looks at Coulson, then at the kittens. "I like that one."

Coulson follows Clint's pointing to a smaller kitten sitting near Rosie's head. Unlike the others who were finished eating and had begun fighting each other, it sat quietly cleaning its paws. It was white and covered in black patches that made it look like it had been splattered with paint. Its green eyes resembled Rosie's.

"A good choice." Coulson picks up the small animal and holds it close, causing it to purr. "What should we call it?"

"Spot."

A snort of laughter. "How creative."

"Shut up." Clint shoves at him. "We can take her- I think it's a her -home today. Steve made care packages. But Thor has some kind of elaborate going-away ritual for the kittens, so you may be here for a while."

"Are you inviting me to stay for dinner?"

"And possibly the night," Clint grins broadly. "My mattress needs a good breaking-in."

At that, Clint and Coulson share a genuine laugh for the first time in ages, while Rosie looks on contentedly.

** Post-Credits Scene **

As for the rest of Rosie's kittens, Thor gives one to Jane and one to Darcy, as promised. Tony gives one to Pepper as an apology for everything ever. Bruce uses the last one as an excuse to find Betty again and give it to her, but that's another story for another time.

_** FIN ** _


	3. A Series of Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A request for Tony going to a con and being found out, by sarimia and possibly also ussevenprise. Pure, unadulterated crack. No shame.
> 
> There is no going back from this fic. I have written it, and I can only go forward from here. I can't even explain- BRB, need therapy.
> 
> ENJOY!
> 
> (P.S. There's still room for two more fic requests! And I am getting to the ones I already have; the next one I'm writing is HULKEYE FLUFF from askpinktaric!)

_Midsummer_

Every second weekend in August, Tony goes on a trip.

This isn't unusual. Tony hops on planes like most New Yorkers hop on the subway. Even his leaving Pepper at home isn't particularly strange, the woman can only follow him around so much.

What was strange was when Coulson starts disappearing at the same time.

Once was a fluke, but two years in a row? Clint wasn't stupid. He knew the man too well to just shrug and say "coincidence." Nobody gets one over on Hawkeye.

So when Tony heads out wearing a suspiciously grown-out beard and Coulson packs up and goes off on "S.H.I.E.L.D. business," Clint follows.

* * *

_Saturday, Conference Hall in Chicago_

"Hey, careful!" Coulson steps back to dodge one of Tony's shoulder spikes. "Easy on the talking with your hands, okay? Those things are dangerous."

"Sorry, I need them to protect myself from darkspawn." Tony smiles at himself, admiring his Garret Hawke armour in the mirrored wall of the elevator. "You look great, by the way. How come you didn't wear it yesterday?"

"The glue on the boots needed to dry. Captain America wouldn't look right wearing tennis shoes." Coulson did indeed look great. The meticulous last-minute stitches he'd put into his vintage Captain America costume on the private jet ride over had paid off.

The absurdly slow elevator at last opens to the main floor of the comic book convention. The throng of people shuffling from place to place, most in costume, looks downright chaotic and smells just the same. Tony and Coulson couldn't even see the booths from where they were standing.

The mismatched pair instinctively put their shoulders back and their elbows out. Tony checks to make sure his wallet is safely tucked away one last time. "Let's do this."

* * *

_A Few Hours Later_

Tony and Coulson stumble out the exit door still wiping tears from their eyes. "Oh my god," Tony gasps. "I was holding it together until they did that dramatic reading of the War on Drugs one. Best panel _ever._ "

"The nineties were really not a good time for Cap," Coulson agrees, trying to compose himself. "Hey, a street meat truck. Let's have some lunch."

After purchasing some exceptionally salty French fries and hot dogs of dubious origin, the pair sit on one of the hills in the park beside the hall and dig in. A fellow con-goer dressed in a plastic-y vintage Bucky Barnes costume soon plops down beside them. They're about to strike up a conversation until a voice that is obviously Clint's says "Good afternoon, gentlemen."

Considering all that has happened in their lives, that moment really shouldn't have elicited such unmanly, frightened squeaks from them, but it did.

Coulson, always the paragon of control, speaks first. "What exactly are you doing here?"

"I got to wondering what you might be up to all by yourselves." The smirk on Clint's face begs to be slapped off. "So I did a little hacking. Lose the red in your face, would you? This isn't even close to the worst thing I thought you two might be doing."

Tony holds back so as not to draw attention to them. "And you felt the need to fly all the way here, why?"

"Well, at first I was just going to check up on you and leave, but now I'm having fun." Clint keeps grinning, Tony and Coulson keep glaring. "Come on, you're not going to send us all home, are you? We had to wait five hours for tickets yesterday, let us join you."

"'Us?'" Coulson asks just before Natasha and Thor appear and sit beside Clint. "God damn it."

Tony, though still angry and humiliated, can't help but be slightly distracted by the fact that they're dressed as Isabela, and Varric Tethras respectively. Natasha notices his staring and shoots him an amused smile. "What? You think you're the only one who plays video games?"

"Where did you guys get those costumes?" Tony deflects, trying to ignore the reality of the situation.

"This city has a most wonderful costume shop," Thor says brightly. "Is that where you got yours?"

Tony still wants to crawl under a rock but hey, in for a penny in for a pound. "No, I made it. But besides tha-"

Thor abruptly dominates the conversation by babbling about Tony's skills and if he could perhaps teach him. Steve and Bruce come walking up holding bags of food and Tony is twice as distracted as before. Bruce is wearing a simple Starfleet science officer uniform with a tricorder slung across his shoulder. Steve is wearing a gold command uniform that is absolutely skintight, and he has his hair parted the other way. Tony feels geeked out and aroused on top of shocked and embarrassed. It's enough to shut him up, temporarily.

"Oh good, you found them!" Steve hands out the various fast food bags. "We've been looking for you guys all morning." He looks at Coulson, ducks his head for a moment, and laughs. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you stole the real thing. That's really neat, Phil."

It's subtle as always, but the look on Coulson's face changes from simmering anger to restrained red-blooded joy. Everyone else is ignorant of the original awkwardness of the conversation and digs into their food. Steve takes Thor's lead and uncharacteristically chatters away about all they've seen while trying to find Tony and Coulson.

"So what should we do after lunch?" Steve asks between swallows of soda. "We've been having such a great time just wandering around that we haven't actually done anything yet."

"I vote dealer's room," Bruce says, holding up one finger. "The money I brought is burning a hole in my pocket."

It's kind of an odd thing to hear from Bruce, but everyone agrees, finishes their lunches, and get ready to go back in. Tony's anger is fading, as it often does when he sees the endangered Greater Excited Steve. As they walk, Tony comes up behind Clint and grabs his shoulder with a gloved hand.

"You're lucky Steve's enthusiasm is so contagious, but don't think you're off the hook for this one."

Clint pulls a wry smile. "Relax. Phil's already vowed to withhold sex for a month, and threatened me with death if I ever tell anyone else about this. Go join your party and have a good time."

"It's not a party," Tony mutters indignantly to himself. "There's only three people."

* * *

_Later_

"Got it, got it, got it, got it, need it. Need it, got it, got it, got it. Need it." Bruce mumbles rapidly as he flips through bins of comic books at record speed.

"Take it easy there, Bruce," Tony cautions while flipping just as fast.

There's a delay before Bruce looks up and shakes his head. "Don't worry, I'm fine. I'm just being efficient."

Steve makes a pained noise as he finds himself shoved against the tables beside them. "I've never been stopped for so many photos in my life." He rubs his forehead and Tony snickers, knowing how many teenage girls are going home happy today because of Steve's choice of outfit. "Still having a good time, though. Look what I got!"

Steve opens his bag to reveal a few rolled up prints and some small press books. Tony smiles. "Ah, I wondered when you'd find artist alley. Usually they have a lot of quality stuff there, is it not as good this year?"

"No, no, it's great. I just didn't take enough money out." Steve scratches the back of his neck, keeping his movements small in the crowded area. "When Clint said this place was big, I don't think I quite got the picture."

Tony reaches into one of the invisible pockets he built into his outfit and withdraws a small stack of bills. He presses into Steve's hand and the taller man frowns. "No, you don't need to do that. I'm just going to-"

"Wander around an unfamiliar city trying to find an ATM that hasn't been emptied and probably get lost?" Tony smirks. "Don't worry, there's plenty more where that came from. Just focus on losing your con virginity, it's the best first time you'll ever have."

"That's so rude," Steve rolls his eyes. "Thanks though, I'll pay you back."

"Okay. Hey, do you know where the others ran off to?"

"Natasha's in line to get something signed. Coulson and Clint are at a panel. Last I saw Thor, he was at this really weird booth with a name I couldn't pronounce." Steve bites at his lip. "Maybe I should go get him, I don't like leaving him alone here. But I don't know where it is, I got lost in the crowd."

"Spell the name of the booth for me, I can probably find it."

"Uh, Y-A-O-I, I think." Steve notices Tony's hands still suddenly. "What?"

Tony sighs deeply and shoves his stack of comics in Steve's direction. "Watch these and Bruce for me, I'll be back in a minute."

* * *

_Later Still_

"There's the Mario Kart room!" Clint grabs Coulson's sleeve and points like an excited child. "It's open! Come on!"

"Why do they have an eighteen-plus room?" Steve eyes the sign skeptically. He'd just given Thor the "do not open those kinds of purchases when there's children around" talk and is in a G-rated mood. "Isn't it just a racing game?"

Tony clasps a sturdy hand on Steve's shoulder and leads him in. "Let's just say, there's a reason we had to leave Bruce at that DVD sale."

_One Hour Later_

"That escalated quickly," Natasha comments as they leave, retying the blue bandana around her frazzled wig.

"Some very creative cursing on Steve's part," Thor muses. "A musical quality to it, almost poetic."

"I didn't mean to get like that, it's just," Steve gives Tony a sharp look. "That was a dirty trick, waiting until the last minute to knock me off the road."

Tony grins triumphantly and hands Steve the box of Pocky he'd won. "Here, for being such a fair player. Now turn that frown upside down."

The box looks comically small in Steve's large hand. "What is this stuff, anyways?"

"Japanese candy, tastes like cardboard." Coulson cuts in. "Impossible to stop eating."

* * *

_That Night_

Tony drops onto the bed. It always felt a little satisfying to take armour off, didn't matter what kind. The clock reads 12:58 a.m. For once, he happily looks forward to sleep.

He hears a noise downstairs, probably Coulson. No problem. Tony makes sure to get the pricier hotel room with two separate bedrooms. He'd been informed at various times in his life that he snored, and he'd hate to disturb everyone's favourite unofficial Avenger's beauty sleep.

A knock at the door, Steve's voice. "Hey, Tony?"

Tony gets up and opens the door to find Steve still in his costume. Tired? What's that? "Hey! What are you doing here?"

"Hope I'm not bothering you," Steve toys with the handle of the carry-on bag he's holding. "Natasha, Clint, and Thor went to a 'rave,' Bruce went to bed, and Phil's going to a screening of my old films. We traded room keys-"

"So you wouldn't be bored and lonely," Tony finishes for him. "Cute. Come on in, I was just about to organize some of my stuff."

They sit on the bedroom floor together and Tony empties several bags in between them. Tony starts organizing the comics by series and number, and Steve examines them with interest. It feels a little intimate, despite the sizable distance of plastic, paper, and scratchy carpet between them.

"'DC,' 'DC,' 'DC,' are all of these from one publisher?" Steve traces a careful finger over a bagged issue of _Wonder Woman._

"Yeah, they're the only really huge company out there. It'd be nice if there was another at the same level, might keep things a little more interesting." Tony shrugs. "Oh well."

They keep shuffling the books around. Tony takes a moment to look at Steve. Once he can drag his eyes away from the were-you-sewn-into-that outfit, he notices a certain glint in Steve's eyes. He recognizes it immediately.

"Something's bothering you," Tony says it pointedly, probably because he's tired. "Did you get groped in a crowd? I know how disconcerting that can be."

Steve's mouth twitches at one corner. "Something's bothering you, too."

Tony bites back whatever Steve is noticing. "I asked first."

Steve sighs, sitting back and resting his hands on his knees. "What was disconcerting was seeing Clint's costume. Not that it was inconsiderate of him to wear it or anything." Steve waves a dismissive hand in the air. "I mean, obviously Bucky never actually dressed like that, he was never my cutesy little-kid sidekick. The comics stuff is fifty miles north of reality. It shouldn't even remind me of him."

"But it does."

Steve nods. "It's still a bit...difficult, remembering him. It's getting better. I was able to mostly shake it off and have a good time. Like I said, the stuff in the comics isn't how it actually was."

Tony sends a smile his way. "Well then, that's good."

Steve smiles back. "Your turn."

Tony frowns, negative feelings from earlier bubbling to the surface. "Can I use a get out of jail free card?"

"No."

"Damn. It's really nothing to worry about."

"Tell me anyways."

The tone of his voice gets pissy, unhappy at Steve's unnecessary concern. "I just didn't like being found out, that's all."

Steve looks confused. "'Found out?' You're not doing anything wrong. I don't know why you were hiding it in the first place."

"Because I'm a genius. I'm supposed to be interested in discovering the secrets of the universe and making machines that cure ebola or something, not stuff like this."

Steve moves a little closer to him. "By that logic, I shouldn't be allowed to be interested in stuff like this either because I'm a supersoldier. We're still people, we're allowed to have hobbies."

"You're only expected to be a supersoldier on the field, not all the time." Tony starts grabbing the comics and shoving them back in the bag. The mortification burns hot in his chest and his face. "The only reason you're here is because Clint wanted to make fun of me. I just hope everyone doesn't have _this_ image of me in their heads during a fight when I need them to listen."

"That's not true," Steve says as Tony's movements pick up speed. "He was worried that you two might be doing missions or something by yourselves. You know how he worries about Phil, and you too."

"Mhmm. That excuses the hacking, not the plane trip, not bringing you guys."

"Okay, Clint did want to tease you two a bit. That's how he is. Phil's punishing him appropriately, I'm sure. But the rest of us didn't all fly over here and spend all day with you guys just to mock you. We're having a great time."

Tony finishes packing his stuff and slowly shoves it under the bed. "Oh yeah?"

"It's nice. All of us being together and having fun. It's a big mix of different stuff, but it doesn't feel like anyone's left out. It all feel really welcoming." Steve shakes his head. "Sorry, my brain's been on overdrive today. Am I making sense?"

"Yeah, you are." Tony turns back around and purposefully invades Steve's space. "So you don't have a problem with Tony Stark spending a weekend dressing up like a fictional character and doing all this childish stuff?"

"You're just Tony to me, and it's not childish." Steve stands and lifts Tony up with him. "If you enjoy it and it doesn't hurt anybody, I don't have a problem. And besides, I'd be the pot calling the kettle black if I did." Steve gestures to his costume and Tony chuckles.

"Whatever keeps the morale of your troops up, right Captain?"

Steve laughs but Tony sees in his eyes that it clicks. "Backtracking a bit, I quite like your costume. Sorry I didn't say so earlier, I got a little caught up in everything." He reaches a hand out and rubs a thumb over Tony's jaw. "I like your beard like this, too."

"Well, you should enjoy it while it lasts." Tony steps in closer, appreciating the darkening of Steve's eyes. He's not even trying to be smooth but honestly, they've both been eyeing each other all day. No need to dance around it.

"I think I will." Steve says quietly, dipping his head low. They kiss, open-mouthed and hungry. Dropping the superficial banter in favour of movement and touch. Tony walks them to the edge of the bed before trying to hook his leg over Steve's hip.

"Let me just, ah, get a little more comfortable first." Steve says when they part for air.

Tony runs his fingers up and down the seams at Steve's sides. "Actually, if you wouldn't mind, leave it on?"

Steve goes to say something before stopping and arching an eyebrow. "Wait, didn't you tell me that you only watched Star Trek as a kid?"

"Yeah, I don't like what it says about my psyche either." Tony traces a quick finger over the badge on Steve's chest. "Please?"

Steve laughs and goes in for Tony's neck. "Just don't call me 'Captain' this time and we'll be fine."

* * *

_Sunday Morning_

"Hey Steve, could you Febreeze me?"

Steve sticks his head out the bathroom door, toothbrush still in his mouth. Tony's standing there fully costumed and holding a bottle of air freshener. "Oh, one sec."

"I'm a little concerned," Steve says once Tony's been coated in a layer of overly-flowery spray. "About us being recognized."

"I haven't been recognized in the ten years or so that I've been going here," Tony assures, feeling a bit odd at suddenly being able to admit that. "Besides, why did you let everyone come yesterday if you were worried?"

"Clint and Natasha made a convincing argument about how these things work and costumes are enough, not to mention they accounted for everything that could possibly go wrong." Steve twirls the bottle on one finger. "But I don't know, us being out together as a group for two days, and I can't even wear my costume any more."

"Sorry about that. I'll buy or make you a new one that doesn't rip so easily."

"No worries, it was for a worthy cause." Steve throws a big grin over his shoulder before heading back to the bathroom. "I'm serious though, I'm starting to question my decision to come here. Our safety is supposed to be my priority."

Tony laughs softly to himself. "You have nothing to worry about. Anywhere else we might be Iron Man or Captain America, but here, we're just some random guys. If anyone thinks we look familiar, they'll just assume we look like a character they like."

Steve runs his thumb over the teeth of a comb. "Well, if _you_ haven't been found out yet, then I guess the rest of us are fine." He looks at Tony. It's the "we're both in charge" look. "Right?"

Tony tries to look trustworthy, though it's difficult in his current getup. "Right."

Steve gives a slight smile, steadfast and true. "But just to be safe," he brings the comb up and parts his hair the other way.

Tony cackles, leaning on the bathroom door frame. "Nice. Now put on some glasses and let's get going."

* * *

_Later_

The building is less crowded today, their itinerary less intense than the day before. They're having just as much fun, drinking it all in, just at a slower pace. And just like everything else recently, Tony's adjusting to doing something with a group that he used to do on his own.

Not entirely on his own, though. When Coulson first came along, it was because he was tracking Tony down over some oh-so-important paperwork he'd neglected to sign before taking off for the weekend. When the agent found him at the convention hall itself rather than his hotel room, Tony felt like a cornered animal.

Until Coulson had turned around and spotted a booth full of vintage Captain America memorabilia. Clint wasn't completely kidding when he called the man "adorable" in teasing. After that, the con had become Their Thing. There was no talking about it before or after, no passing innuendos, no nothing. They went, they had fun, they maintained their dignity.

Despite his talk with Steve the other night, Tony still fears that the team will lose respect for him after this. And the thought of their respect for Coulson being compromised was downright distasteful. If that happened, Tony would be the first to let Clint know he'd gone too far.

If Coulson was thinking the same thing, he didn't show it. Steve's praise the other day had put the agent on cloud nine. He seemed content to let Clint lead him around like a small child at Disney World. He only drew the line at PDA, saying it wouldn't be good for the image of a national icon.

Upon hearing that, Steve had let out one of those snort-laughs that Tony teases him about, saying they didn't even come close and to just relax and have fun. Tony belatedly wonders if Steve had finally bypassed JARVIS's firewalls and googled himself with the Safesearch off.

"Hey, look!" Clint says loudly, breaking Tony out of his introspection monologue. He was pointing to the DDR machines, set up in pairs along the wall of the large hallway. "I haven't played that since it first came out! Man, I feel so old now."

Steve, Coulson, and Bruce frown separately at that last comment, but Clint doesn't or chooses not to notice.

"I play it once a year," Natasha says. "During the Christmas party, the junior ag-members set it up in their break room. It's pretty fun." Tony thinks "Nice save," and he's sure everyone else does too.

A smirk spreads across Clint's face before he extends a gloved hand. "How about a little friendly competition?"

Natasha smiles back, tugging at her clothes to make sure everything's securely in place. "You're on."

_4 Minutes and 50 Seconds Later_

"Where did all these people come from?" Steve gasps as he tries to politely squeeze out of the crowd gathered around Natasha, who is being held up on Thor's shoulder in the middle of it all.

"No idea, but that was pretty damned impressive." Tony says loudly over the shouts of "You go, Isabela!" "I didn't think it was possible to get a perfect score on fucking _challenge mode._ My worldview has been shaken."

"I knew Tasha could do it." Clint sighs and leans heavily on Coulson. "The student surpassing the master, it brings a tear to my eye."

Coulson shoves him off as they finally get out of the crowd. "Enough with the fallen warrior schtick, you lost by a hundred points."

"Tsk tsk, isn't that a bit mean for Captain America?"

Tony and Steve ignore the lovebirds bickering behind them as they approach Bruce, who had quickly moved to a distant bench when the people had started to gather.

"I don't think we'll be getting those two back for a while." Bruce looks over their shoulders at the paper and pens being waved in Natasha's direction. "Should we wait?"

"Nah, Thor won't get into any trouble as long as she's there." Tony pulls his phone out of one of his hidden pockets. "A little bird told me that the t-shirt booth is having a giveaway right about now. Somebody text Natasha and tell them to meet us there."

Coulson gets on it immediately, ignoring Clint's whines of "You and Natasha text? Since when? Do you talk about me?"

"I think I've gotten more things for free than for money." Steve says genuinely, despite shouldering two overfilled bags of various original artwork.

"We should go to the closing ceremonies later," Bruce speaks up. "I've heard good things."  
Tony smiles to himself. It was nice, being together and having fun.

* * *

_Monday_

Tony stumbles into the kitchen, daylight blinding him. He gets himself some coffee and becomes vaguely aware of his teammates chatting at the kitchen table. If threats could strike at any time, why did S.H.I.E.L.D. training exercises have to be so early?

Tony sits down and drinks his coffee. Gradually, the white noise surrounding him becomes discernable words.

"-only going next year if we can get advance passes or something. I've been on three-day stakeouts and that line made me want to walk into traffic. Christ." Clint's voice.

"Agreed." Bruce's voice now. "Tony would know how to get those, right?"

It's directed at him, so he makes the token effort to open his eyes most of the way. "Huh?"

"Advanced passes for next year, how do we get those?" There's a smile on Bruce's face, the smug smile of a man free from chemical dependencies.

"Oh. Well they usually go up-Wait, you guys want to go again next year?" Tony's mostly awake now. "I thought once would be enough."

"Nay!" Thor exclaims, causing everyone but Steve to wince. "I had a wonderful time blending in with the Midgardians, enjoying their company and hobbies without my status as an Avenger getting in the way." Everyone nods enthusiastically. They actually mean it.

Tony takes a long swallow of coffee before a distinctly happy look lights up his face. "I had no idea you guys were as nerdy as I am." He stands and holds his arms out. "Team group hug, anyone?"

"Try it and see how far it gets you," Natasha says between mouthfuls of cereal.

"Aw, you know you love me." Tony takes a seat and Steve rubs an affectionate hand over his forearm. "Sure, we can all go together. It's more fun when there's enough people in one hotel room for it to turn into a psychological experiment waiting to happen. I'm not sure how Coulson's feeling after the surprise thing, though."

"I'm still in trouble for that," Clint cuts in, eager to assure everyone. "But he says as long as it doesn't interfere with our Avenger duties or S.H.I.E.L.D. business, he's happy to keep coming with us."

"He's such a nice guy." Steve goes to take a drink of his orange juice.

"Yeah, I think the surprise blowjob helped too."

Steve inhales his mouthful and coughs violently. Bruce reaches over to smack him on the back. "Clint, do you even know what 'appropriate' means?" Steve pinches his burning nose. "Don't bother answering that."

"Moving on," Natasha changes the subject. "If we're going as a group, we should have a cohesive costume theme. I vote DA again, but for all of us."

"I second that motion," Clint holds his hand up, ignoring Steve. "I haven't finished that one yet, but I can borrow it off Tasha, right?"

Natasha smiles at Clint's puppy eyes. "If it comes back with a single scratch you are a dead man."

"What about me?" Steve frowns slightly. "I lose interest with those games pretty fast."

"I'll find or make you a summary. The story's pretty interesting." Tony rests his chin on his hand. "But you're going as Allistair."

"Can't I decide after-"

"Allistair," Clint cuts in.

"But-"

"Allistair," Natasha and Thor say in unison.

Steve glances uncomfortably around the table. "O...kay, then."

"Give Bruce that summary as well," Thor says seriously. "It would be risky for him to play the game itself."

"I'm not so bad with most RPGs." Bruce muses. "Is it really frustrating or something?"

"Nay, it is simply very...emotionally tumultuous." Thor stares at the remains of his pancakes and makes upset noises. There's a brief, awkward silence.

"Oh, and the costumes have to be handmade. No offence, guys," Tony gestures to Thor, Natasha and Clint. "Store-bought ones are okay, but if you want something good, you have to put the effort in. Who here can sew?"

Tony, Clint, Natasha, and Steve raise their hands.

Clint crooks an eyebrow. "Cap, you know how to sew?"

"There weren't any young ladies waiting around to patch our uniforms on the front." Steve grins. "Also, I was an only child and my mother had some family embroidery secrets to pass on."

"Well, now that that's settled." Tony stands up and stretches, joints cracking. He lifts his mug in the air. "To next year's con?"

Everyone clumsily joins in the toast before cleaning up their breakfasts and getting ready to head back to reality.

* * *

And thus, the seven of them enjoy their new group activity. If they're busy saving the world that weekend, they go to another. No one else finds out, because no one else has to. They get to be honest and geeky with each other the rest of the year. And it's fun, It's a morale booster if there ever was one.

Nick Fury always has a feeling something is up, but he trusts Coulson too much to bother investigating. Just as well, it's hard to have faith in your one good eye after you've caught them playing a Mario Party drinking game.

**_ FIN  _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, they're dressing up as and talking about Dragon Age. This is an example of "I will do pretty much anything you request."
> 
> Unnamed con is not based on any real con in Chicago, I just used a patchwork of my own experiences. The "wonderful costume shop" is actually based on a great Chicago costume shop I heard about in passing, but unfortunately don't know the name of.
> 
> The Captain America war on drugs comics is 100% real and 100% hilarious: http://captain-america.us/articles/anti-drug/anti_drug.htm
> 
> It’s worth noting that in DDR scoring, 100 points is a very small margin to lose by.
> 
> I'm hitting a "plateau period" with my writing. Things keep coming out the same and I don't feel like I'm improving or getting it right, but according to other writers and my own experience that's what happens right before you make an improvement. You just have to keep working through it, so that's what I'm doing with these! Yes good.


	4. I Should Apologize for the Rocky and Bullwinkle Reference, But I'm Not Going To

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A request for another texting fic from askpinktaric!
> 
> Oh boy, these things are so much fun. HERE’S ANOTHER ONE YA’LL, ENJOY!

Omghmm Perpper   
\- TS

Tony? What’s going on?  
Are you hurt?  
\- PP

Noo I’m cryinh laughting  
One secc  
\- TS

Oh god, what now?  
\- PP

You’ll like this, trust me.  
I woke up and heard what sounded like loud voices coming from the bathroom.  
So I peeked in to make sure it wasn’t aliens or some shit. It was actually Steve in the shower.  
and omgfdf  
He was singing along to YMCA, AT FULL VOLUME  
\- TS

That song by the village people?  
\- PP

YES  
I can’t. I’m done, I’m so done  
\- TS

That’s kind of adorable and also very funny.  
Wait, where are you now?  
\- PP

I ran down the hall and collapsed in the elevator.  
…  
Did you think I was just rolling around in the bathroom doorway laughing and texting you?  
\- TS

Yes.  
\- PP

Well, I can’t act too superior here. I did ask JARVIS to save that footage for my personal amusement.  
\- TS

No Youtube this time.  
\- PP

But Pepperrrrrrrr  
\- TS

\- - -

I still want an explanation about last night.  
\- BB

Well you see, karaoke is ten times more fun while drunk.  
\- CB

And that’s why you, Thor, and Tony started singing “As Long As You Love Me.”  
\- BB

Yes.  
\- CB

With no music.  
\- BB

Yes.  
\- CB

I’m not going to ask how the three of you know all the lyrics, but I am going to ask why you threw a bowl of chips at me while crying.  
\- BB

‘Cause you wouldn’t join in and we needed at least a four-part harmony to make it work.  
And also ‘cause I was drunk off my ass. I’m really REALLY sorry, Bruce.  
\- CB

No worries. You already apologized extensively while vomiting into the bathtub.  
And crying, again.  
\- BB

Jesus, I am the lamest kind of drunk.  
At least Natasha jumped in to help us finish the song. That was fun.  
\- CB

I’m really wondering how she knew all the lyrics.  
\- BB

I had to pretend to be a groupie for them as part of a mission a few years back.  
\- NR

Oh, makes sense.  
Wait, I didn’t add you to this conversation.  
\- BB

;)  
\- NR

\- - -

Happy birthday, Cap! And many happy returns of the day.  
I got you a present, I’ll give it to you at dinner.  
\- NR

Thank you so much, Natasha! I really appreciate that.  
You’ll have to tell me when your birthday is so I can get you something :).  
\- SR

You really are as apple-pie as you look. It’s November 1st.  
So, how does it feel to share a birthday with the country you’ve dedicated your life to?  
\- NR

Haha, it is nice that the whole country happens to throw a party on my birthday.  
But now that you mention it, I’m not dedicated to just the USA anymore. I’ll serve and defend any country that needs me.  
Though America seems to be the only one that’s attacked by aliens and supervillains on any regular basis.  
\- SR

So you’re Captain America gone international, then?  
\- NR

Yeah, I guess that makes me Captain Planet.  
\- SR

Oh, Cap.  
No, dear. Just no. Don’t say that to anyone else.  
\- NR

What? Is that a sexual thing?  
\- SR

No, no.  
Just google it, you’ll thank me later.  
\- NR

Uh, okay.  
\- SR

\- - -

Are you still mad because I ordered strippers dressed like the Founding Fathers?  
\- TS

I’m mad because you ordered strippers at all. The costumes just added insult to injury.  
\- SR

Aww, come on! I didn’t order them for your birthday. I ordered them for the 4th of July party that happened to be on your birthday!  
And I said I was sorry!  
\- TS

Yeah, whatever. That doesn’t excuse the lapdance thing.  
\- SR

Maybe you’d feel better if you took your slightly-belated birthday gift for a spin. It’s in the garage.  
\- TS

Buying me a car is not going to work, Tony.  
\- SR

I didn’t buy you a car! I built an exact copy of that motorcycle you had back in the day! Jeez, stop assuming so much.  
Steve?  
Steve, JARVIS says you’re in the garage.  
Are you ignoring me?  
\- TS

I’ll be back in an hour. Be naked and ready.  
\- SR

Sir, yes sir.  
\- TS

\- - -

Hey Coulson, I heard a certain cellist is moving back to the east coast.  
Good for you, buddy. You must be quite the catch for her to move cross-country like that.  
\- TS

And where did you hear that from?  
\- PC

A little birdy told me.  
\- TS

Thank you, I’ll be sure to chastise Barton appropriately when I see him.  
\- PC

Hey, hey, let’s keep our tasers where they belong, shall we?  
Now, what I do next, I do on behalf of the team and our love and respect for you.  
Ahem.  
COULSON AND HIS GIRLFRIEND, SITTING IN A TREE,  
\- TS

I don’t get paid enough to deal with you people.  
\- PC

K-I-S-S-I-N-G,  
FIRST COMES LOVE,  
then, yeah.  
\- TS

“then, yeah?”  
Come on, if you’re going to do it at least do it right.  
\- PC

No, I disagree with the rest of the song.  
How should I know whether you want to get married or have kids?  
It’s totally out of line to make assumptions about what someone else wants out of life and what makes them happy.  
\- TS

…  
Stark, you pick the weirdest goddamned times to be mature.  
\- PC

\- - -

ARGHHHHHHH  
\- CB

What’s wrong? Should I get my knives?  
\- NR

No, I just had that thing  
you know. you’re laying down thinking about whatever and then BAM  
Embarrassing memory about something stupid you did from NOWHERE.  
And you just lay there writhing from the humiliation, it sucks  
\- CB

And you’re telling me about this, why?  
\- NR

So you can share in my suffering  
Aggggggggggggh  
\- CB

Are you drunk?  
\- NR

Little bit  
\- CB

\- - -

Clint?  
\- TS

Yeah, what?  
\- CB

FINALLY someone texts me back.  
Christ, people don’t appreciate team camaraderie like they used to. They could say hi, at least.  
\- TS

Well, we are in the middle of fighting evil robots and you’re the only one connected to JARVIS.  
\- CB

True. At least you can multitask since you’re out of danger.  
Hey, you can see everything from your sniper nest, right?  
\- TS

That’s the point.  
\- CB

Okay, watch when Cap jumps. Riiiiiiiiight about  
now.  
See the little limp in his step?  
\- TS

Yeah?  
\- CB

Let’s just say he got that from some last-minute pre-battle exercise.  
Overstretched himself, you see.  
\- TS

Makes sense.  
I didn’t see you guys in the gym, where did this exercise take place?  
\- CB

In a broom closet. He wanted to work on our close combat skills.  
He’s a remarkably enthusiastic teacher, we ended up breaking a shelf.  
\- TS

Oh yeah, me and Bruce were doing the same thing last night.  
I think I went too hard on him. He’s got marks all over his shoulders.  
\- CB

No pain, no gain.  
\- TS

Sorry to interrupt this scintillating conversation, but you could you two get the FUCK back to work?  
And you’re paying for that shelf, Stark.  
\- NF

RUDE.  
\- TS

\- - -

Uh, Tony. We have a little situation.  
\- BB

If something blew up, get Dummy to put it out. It’s all he’s good for.  
\- TS

No, nothing like that.  
Remember how I wanted to do tests concerning Cap’s healing abilities?  
I went ahead with one, this one was to see if he could get scars under specific, controlled conditions.  
Turns out he can’t.  
\- BB

Did you stab my boyfriend  
\- TS

No!  
I got Natasha to get me one of those ear piercing guns.  
Keep in mind Cap was curious too, and this was partially his idea.  
\- BB

So you pierced his ear and now Steve’s a little bedazzled, so what?  
Is he having a masculinity crisis or something?  
\- TS

Well actually, I didn’t do it.  
Clint happened to be in the lab, and he gave Cap one of those tiny stud ones while I was in the bathroom.  
Except he healed too fast and now has a hunk of metal firmly stuck in his ear. It’s so small that the skin actually healed over it.  
\- BB

We’re having hawk for dinner.  
\- TS

I went a little green when I came back. He hightailed it to Natasha’s room. Consider any further punishment for interfering in an experiment my responsibility.  
Now, do you mind helping me extract metal from Cap?  
\- BB

There’s an Iron Man sex joke in there, but I can’t think of it right now.  
Find a scalpel, some tweezers, and a first aid kit. I’ll learn field surgery on the way downstairs.  
\- TS

\- - -

Hey Tony, I’m just at the bookstore for a bit. I’ll be back soon.  
\- SR

I know, I watched you on JARVIS’s security cameras.  
\- TS

...Why?  
\- SR

‘Cause I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go ;D.  
\- TS

I give up on you. Not as a partner, just as a human being.  
\- SR

\- - -

Sorry about the, uh, run-in with one of my former bedmates yesterday.  
\- TS

You mean when that dame walked up to us and tried to advise me about what a cold-hearted bastard you actually are?  
You know I didn’t believe a word she said. I know people can get unreasonable and bitter in situations like that.  
\- SR

Yeah, thanks.  
Hey, slightly off-topic hypothetical question. On a scale of 1 to Angry Greek God, how judgemental would you be if you found out exactly how many of those bedmates there were?  
\- TS

0\. You know people were having sex in the 1940’s, right?  
Especially the Howling Commandoes. My boys would liberate some French land and then “liberate” all the French women on it.  
Special mention for Bucky. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a bunch of 70-year-olds wandering across Europe today that look like him.  
\- SR

Wow. I mean, I get the other guys. Wartime and all that. But I was under the impression Bucky was um, more like you?  
\- TS

Hm, clearly I have not told you enough about Bucky. He was more like you than me, in that respect.  
He managed to woo me as well. You have to hand it to him.  
\- SR

What?  
You told me that you were holding out for Peggy.  
\- TS

Not from the ages of 15-24 I wasn’t.  
\- SR

 

*Moments later*

I just found out I didn’t pop Steve’s cherry, his dead best friend did.  
I’m disappointed and uncomfortable.  
\- TS

Look on the bright side: At least it wasn’t your dad.  
\- RR

I will never forgive you for putting that mental image in my head.  
\- TS

\- - -

Natasha, where are you?  
\- SR

In the bathroom. What’s wrong?  
\- NR

Nothing! I wanted to ask you to dance.  
\- SR

I’d be happy to, but shouldn’t you ask Tony first?  
\- NR

No, we danced earlier, before you arrived.  
Also, he’s passed out drunk in the handicapped bathroom stall.  
\- SR

Why the handicapped stall, specifically?  
\- NR

He’s in there with Clint. While they were still conscious they called it the “party stall” and tried to invite me in. I declined.  
\- SR

Good call. Out in a sec.  
\- NR

\- - -

Why did you leave me a voicemail of you saying “moose and squirrel” in a Russian accent?  
\- PP

You said you’d had a hard day. I used do the same thing for Clint to cheer him up. Still do, sometimes.  
Is it working?  
\- NR

I think so. I’ve replayed it about 20 times and my homicidal urges have decreased significantly.  
\- PP

Glad I could be of service.  
\- NR

I still kind of want to stab something, though.  
\- PP

Would sex alleviate that?  
\- NR

Probably. Be home in 10.  
\- PP

\- - -

Tony, what was that noise? I heard it all the way upstairs.  
\- SR

Oh, that was Bruce. He was reading the news and apparently they’ve found the Higgs Boson.  
\- TS

That was Bruce?  
That...didn’t sound human.  
\- SR

Physicists: Be happy for them, don’t try to understand them  
\- TS

\- - -

TONY, I AM INTRIGUED BY WHAT I SAW TODAY.  
\- TO

What did you see?  
\- TS

I WAS WANDERING THE CITY, AND I HAPPENED ACROSS THE CAPTAIN.  
HE WAS LOOKING THROUGH THE WINDOW OF A STORE OF JEWELLERY, AT A DISPLAY OF ITEMS LABELLED “ENGAGEMENT RINGS.” I ASKED HIM WHAT HE WAS DOING, HE REPLIED THAT HE WAS “GETTING A GIFT FOR SOMEONE.”  
I ASKED HIM FOR WHOM, HE APOLOGIZED AND SAID IT WAS “A SURPRISE.”  
CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR BETROTHAL, YOU OUGHT TO HAVE TOLD ME SOONER.  
\- TO

...Oh no  
Shit shit shit what am I supposed to do with this  
\- TS

YOU ARE NOT BETROTHED?  
\- TO

No! Not yet, anyways!  
Oh god, I HAVE to talk to Steve. This is going to be so awkward.  
Thanks for the heads-up buddy, I owe you a big one.  
\- TS

A BIG ONE WHAT?  
TONY?  
\- TO

\- - -

Steve, we need to talk about something important.  
\- TS

Tony Stark initiating a meaningful discussion? Someone circle the calendar!  
\- SR

Oh, you’re so funny that I forgot to laugh.  
But seriously, listen to me.  
\- TS

Heh, sorry, I had to. I’m listening.  
\- SR

I’d like to start by saying that I care about you a lot. You know that, I tell you that morning, noon, and mid-orgasm. No need to get all gooey and tell you again.  
That being said!  
We’re still a very early stage, phase, whatever the hell terminology you use for this, of our relationship, we’ve still got lots of things to sort out.  
Not to mention that you’re still technically pretty young and I’d hate to see you chained to an old man like me this early in your life.  
\- TS

Tony, I’m really confused.  
\- SR

Look, It’s not that I wouldn’t be happy to spend the rest of my life with you. I just don’t want to see us contractually obligated to do so at this point in time. Okay?  
\- TS

What are you even talking about?  
Seriously, pretend I’m seven and spell it out for me.  
\- SR

Thor saw you looking at engagement rings.  
And what I’m trying to say about that is:  
\- TS

Oh for the love of- I wasn’t looking at those!  
I was picking out Natasha’s birthday present from a display of earrings BESIDE them!  
\- SR

Oh.  
Woops, got all worked up over nothing.  
\- TS

At least it brought about some good communication.  
You don’t have to worry again. I feel the same way as you do. And if and when I want us to take that step, I’ll be talking to you first. I promise.  
\- SR

Thanks. I’m glad to hear that.  
I know I’ve got commitment issues out the wazoo, but don’t get the impression stuff like that is completely off the table or anything. I’d be happy to discuss it, y’know, someday.  
\- TS

Good to hear <3.  
From now on, let’s avoid this kind of stress by remembering that Thor is not a reliable source.  
\- SR

I RESENT THAT STATEMENT.  
\- TO

WTF  
\- TS

Again?! Tony, I told you to fix these damned phones!  
Who else is here?  
\- SR

Me.  
\- BB

Also me.  
\- CB

I promise to act surprised when you give the earrings to me.  
\- NR

So just the team this time? I guess that’s a slight improvement.  
\- SR

I AM STILL INSULTED.  
\- TO

Don’t worry about it, Thor. We should just let Mom and Dad have their lovey-dovey time.  
\- CB

Which one am I?  
\- TS

What did you just call us, Clint?  
And we were not being “lovey-dovey,” we were having a serious, private conversation about our relationship.  
\- SR

If by serious you mean cutesy and kind of dorky, then yes. But either way I’ll leave you to it.  
\- BB

Thanks for the birthday gift, Cap.  
\- NR

You’re welcome, Natasha.  
\- SR

**_ FIN _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha’s gift to Steve was the complete discography of ABBA. He absolutely loved it.
> 
> Steve’s gift to Natasha was a pair of red topaz earrings (November birthstone). I couldn’t find any canon for Natasha’s birthdate, so I picked a random date. It’s a rather interesting day, though (to Wikipedia!).


	5. Hello Nurse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A request for Hulkeye fluff from askpinktaric.
> 
> I love this Green Eagle Party.
> 
> Used an idea I've been looking to write for a while, hope you like it! It's sickfic, so there's a little bit of gross, but not much. PG-13.

Bruce awakens in a haze. Heat emanates from his skin like he's a flesh-covered furnace. What feels like a 20-pound weight is sitting in his chest. Through the fog of not-awake and oh-god-why, he's able to vaguely remember his and Tony's conversation from the previous night.

_"Well, all the simulations I've run present a low risk for the Other Guy showing up." Bruce looks over the graphs hovering in front of him, scratching at his throat. "I'm just so surprised a virus made it through after all these years. It's unusual."_

_"It's an anomaly, for sure." Tony says, a hand on his chin as he looks over the data. "But viruses are mutating and evolving all the time. If your tests are right, this one didn't even exist when all that happened. Oh, and just to be safe, you're taking the day off tomorrow."_

_"What? No, I'm fine. It's just-" Bruce pauses to cough harshly into his fist. "Just a little chest cold, no big deal."_

_"Mhmm," Tony smiles at him and pats him on the back. "No need to push yourself too hard. Take a day to get better. I promise not to make any groundbreaking discoveries without you."_

_Bruce rolls his eyes, tempted to make a pot-kettle comment. "Fine, but only because I don't want to contaminate anything."_

Once the recollection ends, Bruce realizes he feels too warm and kicks the blankets down around his knees. He starts shivering soon afterwards and brings the blankets up to his neck, only to be overheated within moments. He winces as he rolls and adjusts, skin and muscles feeling tender and sensitive to even slight movement.

Bruce is a doctor, he knows he should get up and take some medicine. But he just feels so completely awful. He convinces himself he'll just lay down for a bit longer and then get up. Medicine can wait. He even manages to make himself believe that the blurry coloured spots in his vision are normal.

He isn't sure if he falls asleep again or just rests his eyes. An indeterminate amount of time later, he opens them to find Clint gently shaking his shoulder.

"Bruce? Hey, sorry for barging in. Tony told me you were sick." He presses a hand to Bruce's forehead. "Wow, you're burning up! Did you take something?"

Bruce goes to speak and surely pulls several muscles with the force of his hacking. His chest tightens and feels wet inside. His throat hurts more with each cough.

Clint keeps a light hand on his shoulder until he settles down. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

Clint practically runs out of the room. Bruce slumps onto his side, feeling dizzy and woollen-headed and certain that he couldn't go anywhere even if he wanted to.

Clint returns a few minutes later. He sets a few bottles on the side table and opens a small plastic case. The tip of a thermometer pokes at Bruce's lips. "Open up, big guy."

Bruce complies. He tries to suppress the rising urge to cough by concentrating how annoying the thermometer feels under his tongue. Metallic, plastic-y, and not-quite-painful.

Clint removes the thermometer moments later. Bruce descends into hacking again, but he hears Clint curse repeatedly as he sets the thing down and heads for the bathroom.

Bruce hears water running and splashing for several minutes. Clint returns and helps him up, leads him to the bathroom. He helps Bruce to strip off his t-shirt and boxers before half-lifting him into the bath. Normally, Bruce would ask a question or two, but he's feeling even hazier than earlier and just allows the manhandling to happen.

The water is exactly room temperature and feels nice on his burning skin. After coaxing him to take some ibuprofen and a mouthful of foul-tasting cough syrup, Clint rubs at Bruce's neck and forehead with a dampened washcloth. The awful feeling pervading his body is suddenly much easier to ignore.

After a long quiet, Bruce starts coughing hard. Clint brings the wastebasket over and Bruce is able to clear out his chest a bit, not caring much for propriety at this point. He feels much clearer-headed than earlier, and decides to attempt conversation.

"So," Bruce says quietly, his voice raspy but no longer painful. "What's with the surprise bathtime?"

"You had a hundred and six degree fever," Clint replies a little grimly. "You should be more careful."

Bruce feels embarrassed and unconsciously sinks deeper into the water. "Yeah, wouldn't want the Other Guy to show up over something stupid like that."

"I'm not worried about him," Clint says with complete honesty. "I'm worried about you having a seizure and damaging that enormous brain of yours."

"It is my best feature."

Clint smiles and combs fingers through Bruce's hair. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Quite a bit. Still pretty...gross. Yeah, gross is a good word."

"Think you'll be okay on your own while I run to the 7-11 and get a few things?" Bruce nods and Clint pushes himself to his feet. "I'll have JARVIS keep an eye on your vitals. Just try to relax."

Bruce manages to ask JARVIS to put some of his music on, closes his eyes, and tries to do just that. He still feels foolish. Of all people, he should know enough to take care of himself. Clint might not be worried about the Other Guy, but Bruce certainly is. What if Clint had been at the range today? The rest of the team never came to his floor. Bruce hopes that it's because they respect his need for personal space and not because they were still afraid of them.

Bruce tries to clear his mind and eventually succeeds. Not for long though, a hand touches his shoulder soon enough. "Hey, Bruce?"

He opens his eyes and shivers, the bathwater had gone cold. Had he nodded off again? He doesn't have much time to ponder that, as the thermometer is introduced again. Bruce holds it under his tongue patiently until Clint withdraws it and smiles.

"Your fever's gone down," Clint says almost pridefully as he reaches to drain the tub. "Can you stand up alright?"

Bruce tries to say "Of course," but it comes out growly and ends in wet-sounding coughs. Clint just laughs and extends a hand. One towel, a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and several more coughing spasms later, Clint was helping Bruce back into bed.

"I'd probably be right in guessing you haven't eaten yet?" Bruce nods. "I'll take care of that. Oh, Natasha came to the store with me and she got you this." Clint pulls a small object out of his pocket and tosses it at Bruce on his way to the small adjacent kitchen.

It's a palm-sized teddy bear. Specifically, a brown palm-sized teddy bear in pin-striped pajamas, holding a tissue, with "Get Well Soon" embroidered on one foot. Bruce is still chuckling and coughing by the time Clint comes back carrying a tray.

"She thought you might like that," Clint grins and gestures for Bruce to sit up more so he can set the tray down. "We named him Robert on the way back here, hope you don't mind."

"Not at all." Bruce chuckles before examining the spread in front of him. A bowl of chicken noodle soup with some soda crackers beside it, a glass of ginger ale filled to the perfect height, and a sandwich with some kind of deli meat, all perfectly arranged.

Bruce nibbles at his lip and feels indignation rear its head. Fever disaster averted, he was now capable of taking care of himself. He wasn't a child. He'd taken care of himself in much worse situations than this.

But it would be pretty rude to get all bent out of shape right after Clint had made a nice lunch for him. He might as well eat the food before sending Clint on his way.

"Thanks, this looks great," Bruce says politely before lifting a spoonful to his mouth. All distaste immediately flees from his mind. "Oh, my god."

Clint grins at him from his perch on the edge of the bed. "It's my secret recipe. Good, huh?"

"Did you put unicorn blood in this or something? It's spectacular."

Clint reaches over to ruffle Bruce's hair. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to get Natasha to kill you."

* * *

After lunch, Bruce's symptoms really start to kick in and getting out of bed seems like a nigh-impossible task. He naps, wakes up to take medicine, eats a little, watches the beginning of a movie, and falls asleep again. Rinse and repeat.

He wakes up after dark to a coughing fit that nearly pitches him over the side of the bed. Clint's beside him and keeps both hands on his shoulders until it passes. Bruce shamelessly collapses face down on Clint's lap and groans.

"This flu is really kicking your ass, isn't it?"

"No, this is great. It's a new persona I'm trying out. I call it Consumption Victim Bruce Banner. What do you think?"

Clint laughed and ruffled Bruce's hair. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the new husky voice. Makes me wanna try some of that, what's it called, intimate healing?"

"Dare I ask what that is?"

"You know, in the movies." Bruce rolls over so he can see the rather grand gestures Clint is making. "The hero is wounded in a big fight with one of his nemesis' tougher goons. He never flinches during the punishing blows, but winces as soon as his love interest touches his side. The scene cuts to the love interest tending his wounds while he lays on a bed in a dimly-lit room. There's some banter at first, but gradually through stolen eye contact, their dynamic changes. The last bandage is put in place and finally, they make out. Then the scene fades to black and the rest is up to our imagination."

Bruce blinks while Clint smiles. "The amount of thought you put into that is truly disturbing."

"You watch enough action movies and you learn a few things." Clint smoothes a rumple in Bruce's shirt. "But seriously, you sound awful. Come with me- I know, I know, you feel like a train hit you. Trust me, this'll be worth it."

Bruce drags his diseased carcass to wherever the hell Clint wants him to go. Turns out it's the balcony on the penthouse level.

"I know I said I was feeling awful," Bruce rasps, the cold mid-autumn air making him shiver violently. "But I wasn't going to jump to this just yet. Pun somewhat intended."

"You're terrible." Clint kisses his temple and expertly clothes him in a thick, enormous quilt he'd snatched off the bed. "This is just to help clear your chest out."

Clint walks them until they're about fifteen feet from the edge, sits down, and guides Bruce down beside him, embracing him with both arms. Bruce would normally be a bit more reticent about being all cuddly outside of their rooms, but the other Avengers don't tend to hang out here after dark so he happily leans into the warmth of Clint's touch.

After obeying Clint's instruction to take deep breaths and hacking up some more gross stuff,- Clint is thankfully not an easily phased man -Bruce finally feels the weight in his chest ease up. Bundled up, the cool air washes comfortably over him. "I think you might have missed your calling. You'd be a great nurse."

Clint laughs softly, trying to contain it and not jostle Bruce too much. "Nah, I only save my good bedside manner for special patients."

They sit in comfortable silence for long, uncounted minutes. Bruce finds himself leaning and resting his head on Clint's pulled-up knees. It occurs to Bruce that Clint's stuck sitting out here with him, and that he ought to suggest they go back inside so Bruce can go to bed and Clint can be released from nursemaid duty.

Clint speaks before Bruce gets a chance. "It's kinda weird."

"Hm?"

"I was just thinking. Even though you can see the lights and hear the cars and stuff from up here, it's easy to pretend you're alone."

"Oh. Yeah. I get it."

Clint murmurs in acknowledgement before going silent again. Bruce relaxes and lets his eyes half-close for a while. He's about to try suggesting going to bed again when Clint starts humming.

It's quiet at first, with lots of pauses and dips in volume where it seems like Clint loses the melody. It builds until Bruce can feel the vibrations and the song would be quite recognizable if Bruce knew it. A thought passes through his mind that he'd always had the impression that adults didn't hum to themselves, aside from twiddly little jingles while they were performing mundane tasks like laundry.

Bruce remains completely still and lets his eyes fully close, knowing any movement or noise would spoil the moment. He dozes off just as Clint starts mumble-singing some of the lyrics in between stretches of humming.

_"Let the world, just hurry by..."_

* * *

Bruce wakes up in bed several hours later, drenched in cold sweat and disoriented. He sits up, panting loudly in the quiet room. Clint, ever the alert sleeper (while sober, anyways), is up and fully awake in an instant. "What is it? Did you have a nightmare?"

"No, no," Bruce mumbles, swiping at his forehead with his hand, becoming a little more awake and aware. "I think my fever broke."

"Wow, that was fast." Clint deftly rolls out of bed and walks to Bruce's side. "Let's clean you up a bit, or else you'll get sick all over again."

Clint helps Bruce wash and towel off before handing him some fresh boxers and crawling back into bed. "You'll probably be feeling a lot better tomorrow, huh?" Clint asks once Bruce is comfortably positioned under his arm.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. You don't have to worry about me."

Clint kisses the top of his head. "I'll probably be at S.H.I.E.L.D. most of the day, Coulson's cracking down on my lack of finished reports. Try not to science too hard, okay? I won't have you pushing yourself and relapsing."

Bruce laughs even though he still feels somewhat dizzy. "I'll try, but I make no promises." Pause. "How did I get back here? I don't remember coming back."

"I carried you," Clint says matter-of-factly.

Bruce goes to say something, but just sighs and nuzzles against Clint's chest. Tomorrow he'll take care of himself. Tomorrow.

* * *

Bruce wakes up the next morning with body aches and a supremely scratchy throat, but much improved from yesterday. All Clint's caretaking had done the trick. He dresses, grabs the pack of lozenges left for him on the side table, and makes his way to the main living floor.

"Good morning, Bruce!" Steve's in the kitchen making breakfast. Bruce wants to ask why he's not up at the crack of dawn like usual, but notices a light purple mark peeking out from his shirt collar and decides against it. "Are you feeling any better?"

"'Morning. Uh, yeah, a lot better," Bruce says in his sick-roughened voice, coughing hard before speaking again. "Oh god, I sound like a frog. Tony's going to make fun of me for this."

"If he bugs you too much, just let me know."

Bruce waves a dismissive hand and hangs back so Steve can finish what he's doing. "I just have to give him the silent treatment and eventually he'll stop and start bribing me with food."

"I wondered why you never come upstairs for lunch," Steve smiles and goes back to clinking dishware around. "I'm sorry none of us came to visit you yesterday. Clint insisted that you were not to be disturbed. You must have been pretty sick."

"Well, yeah, I felt pretty awful but-" Bruce shakes his head. "I didn't have cholera. He didn't need to do all that. I'll talk to him today."

"I wouldn't bother," Steve says with warmth in his voice. "You'd been so adamant that you couldn't get sick, I think it worried him. When you care about someone, you worry about them. That's just how it is."

Steve turns, holding a tray of pancakes and juice in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. "It's why I'm going to go force-feed Tony, because I care about him and I worry about him starving to death in his workshop. This is for you, don't work too hard today."

Bruce takes the mug that's handed to him and barely manages to get in a raspy thank-you-goodbye before Steve is gone. Confused, he takes a sip of the tea inside. It's lemon and delicious.

Bruce continues sipping and smiles to himself. Maybe being doted on isn't so bad.

** _FIN_ **

** Post-Credits Scene  **

"I think I'll name him Robert."

"Why is that?"

"He looks like a Robert."

"How can something 'look' like a name?"

"It just does. Don't I look like a Natasha?"

"Well yeah, but that's different."

"How?"

"You're a walking, talking person, not a toy. Everything about you seems Natasha-like."

"See, you've just proved my point. What does seeming Natasha-like entail?"

"Well, being a super-competent, cool Russian vixen who won't blink while she breaks your hand with black high heels."

"Where the hell do you get off calling me a vixen?"

"It's a compliment!"

"Comparing me to a small animal that has five kids at one time and is made into pelts is not a compliment."

"C'mon, foxes are cool! But we were talking about a teddy bear."

"Yes, his name is Robert. He'll cheer Bruce up."

"He could use that. Poor guy is sick as a dog."

"That's such an odd expression, dogs aren't naturally sick."

"Yeah. I'm kind of worried that I'm developing Munchausen's by Proxy, though."

"I'm surprised you know what that is. Why?"

"I can read. Bruce never lets me spoil him. But being this sick, he has no choice to lay there while I wait on him. It's great, in a sense."

"Not that he isn't completely head-over-heels for you, it's obvious that he is, but I don't think he realizes your potential as a partner."

"I know, right? If it was up to me, he'd just lay in bed all day while I alternated between making him food and petting his hair."

"He does have fantastic hair."

"Sweetheart, you don't know the half of it."


	6. Short Bursts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A request for Clint/Tony, specifically them accidentally getting together after a drunken debate, from hiddengrotto!
> 
> This is an M-rated fic. No 100% explicit stuff going on, but lots of language and sexual whatnots. Enjoy!

"Bullshit!"

"Pardon me?"

"You heard me," Tony snatches the bottle of whiskey off the table and refills his glass. "This is a friendly discussion, not a competition. No need to make stuff up, Barton."

"I didn't make it up. I really did it!"

"Yeah, and did you catch a fish this big afterwards?" Tony holds his hands out to demonstrate what he hopes is a large size, but his depth perception is starting to go so he can't be entirely sure. "Right before sighting Bigfoot?"

Clint draws his brows together and fairly pouts. "Well if that's how it is, then I don't believe your one-hour orgasm story."

"What? It's a legitimate thing! You can google it and see how it's done! Or y'know," Tony shrugs. "Ask Pepper. I doubt she's forgotten."

"And I doubt she'll tell me one way or the other."

"You just gotta catch her in the right mood, that's all." Tony replies with uninhibited snark.

Both men go silent for a bit, taking a moment to knock back a few more mouthfuls of expensive liquor.

"Hey," Clint reaches to the other side of the couch and squeezes Tony's shoulder. "This is supposed to be fun. Let's not let this end like the darts incident, mkay?"

"Oh, god no." Tony shudders at the memory. "Sorry, didn't mean to turn all bitchy on you. I'm just having a lot of trouble believing that you successfully gave a guy a blowjob while fucking him."

"I was in the circus, remember?"

"But you shot at targets."

"You pick up a few side-skills in an environment like that," Clint waves a hand that's only slightly clumsy. "Not to mention my training with S.H.I.E.L.D. Enough stretching, and I can be surprisingly flexible."

"Mhmm?" Tony mumbles, fiddling with the glass in his hand. Still obviously disbelieving, but also curious in spite of himself.

Clint tilts his head to the side for a moment, contemplating Tony's profile. "Well, I could always _show_ instead of tell."

Tony suddenly feels a lot more sober. "What?"

"We're both experienced adults here," Clint gestures between them. "If we do it, I get to be right, which is my favourite thing to be. You get your mind blown with awesome sex. It's a win-win."

Tony taps one finger against the glass in his hand. A vague reminder of the last time he had sex with a "co-worker" nudges at his mind. "I don't know..."

"Yeah, I know. Teammates, it'll be awkward at the water cooler, et cetera et cetera." Clint made a dismissive gesture as if he's had this conversation before. "But I can promise sincerely that I won't keep calling you or trash-talk you to my girlfriends."

Tony returns Clint's smirk as he thinks for a moment. He's tipsy, but not drunk. Capable enough of making his own decisions. Clint's a good guy, and an attractive one to boot. He'd hate to ruin the rapport they've built up. But Clint and Natasha are still close as can be, even though there must have been something more serious than a friendly fuck between them. Carpe diem, right?

"Sure. I'm in if you're in."

Clint smiles, gets up, and starts stretching. Tony laughs, and leans back to watch in appreciation.

* * *

"Oh my _god,_ " Tony pants some time later, laying mostly unclothed on the floor. "Where is your _spine?_ "

"Forget my spine," Clint gasps back. "Where's your gag reflex? Do you even have one?"

"In, in theory."

After getting their breath back and starting to shiver in the cool workshop air, the two manage to sit up enough to carelessly redress themselves.

"That was amazing," Tony shakes his head as he fumbles with his pants. "I'm not even kidding. You're in my top five, and that is a lifetime accomplishment."

"Hey, you're no slouch either." Clint frowns as he realizes his shirt is on backwards. "I'd love to see what you could do with more time and a more forgiving surface." A pause between them. "There's no reason we can't do this again some time, is there?"

Tony runs through several scenarios in his head before grinning a little. "I can't think of one."

* * *

It becomes a routine surprisingly fast.

You can't set your watch to it, especially with Avenging duties getting in the way more than a few times. But there's a rhythm to the timing and frequency of their encounters. They may not be seventeen anymore, but they're pretty insatiable. One is always eager to demonstrate something new, and the other is always happy to play along. It's definitely a win-win.

At some point, Tony's back protests that the couch is simply not good enough anymore, and they move to Tony's bed.

"That was really something," Clint mumbles afterwards. They always end up doing the pillowtalk thing, even though it seems incongruous with the fuckbuddies thing, or whatever the kids call it nowadays.

"Glad to be of service," Tony says with a smile. Clint moves to get out of bed and Tony grabs his forearm. "Hey, where are you going?"

"To my room?" Clint says as if it's so obvious. "Don't want the others finding out."

"Finding out what? That we're two adults choosing to have a little orgasmic fun every once and a while? Oh heavens no! They'll have the morality society after us!" Tony puts a hand to his forehead and mimes fainting. It doesn't really work since he's already laying down. "But seriously, get back in here. No need to take the walk of shame just yet."

Clint shakes his head but gets back in. He lays still for several minutes before quietly saying "I'm glad you're not the wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am type, I've always found that really cold."

"I didn't buy two thousand dollar sheets so I could kick people out of them." Tony reaches over and ruffles Clint's hair. "Sleep well."

* * *

"You make really great stuff," Clint says, perched on a worktable safely away from flying slivers of metal.

"Huh?" Tony stops hammering long enough to look sideways at him. "Where did that come from?"

"I was just looking around here." Clint motions to the cavernous and elaborate workshop surrounding them. "It looks really sturdy. Is it earthquake-proof?"

"Up to magnitude ten. Anything higher than that, I figure this tower is the last thing I have to worry about when the four horsemen of the apocalypse are galloping down the street. Also, I would've had to compromise some of the style."

"Can't disagree with you there." Clint chuckles as he glances around in admiration. "Still impressed you designed all this yourself."

"And built quite a lot of it, don't forget that."

Clint whistles. "Do you have magic hands or something?"

Tony stops hammering what will eventually be the new extra-durable Starkphone case (though it doesn't look like it right now) and strides into Clint's personal space. "You say that like you don't know the answer already."

"I do." Clint looks on appreciatively as Tony slides a hand up his leg to the hem of his shirt. "But I could stand to learn a little more."

"Okay, supplementary lesson one." Tony pushes at Clint's shoulder until he's laying completely flat on the worktable with Tony leaning over him. "The tower's not the only thing that's incredibly sturdy."

"That's an incredibly cheesy line," Clint says as Tony crawls onto the table, turns them ninety degrees so their legs aren't dangling over the side, and curls against him. "Terrible, really."

"And yet, you still have a hard-on." Tony starts nibbling at where Clint's neck meets his shoulder. "Why work harder when I get the same results either way?"

"Lazy ass."

* * *

A few months later, Tony's ass is more sore than lazy. A battle in the Bronx ended with Thor peeling him off the side of a high-rise condo. He tries to fit a pillow under his cast-encased leg and curses through his teeth at the pain. He hates magic so goddamned much.

A knock on the door followed by Clint's voice. "Tony? Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure." Clint enters and sits beside Tony on the bed, careful not to jostle him too much. "Where's everybody else? I'm waiting on them before I order some pizza."

"You might be waiting a while. Thor's helping the clean-up crew by moving cars. Bruce is in the Hulk Tank until his radiation levels go down. Nat's trying to teach him how to play poker through the glass. Cap's still stuck in debrief." Clint holds up a finger for each teammate. "Coulson just let me out of debrief ten minutes ago."

"What a day."

"No kidding." Clint frowns as he examines the bruises and bandages covering Tony's body. "Are you alright? I mean, relatively speaking."

"Yeah, I'll be fine. That horned rabbit...thing, just caught me off guard. It looks worse than it is." Tony brings up a holo-screen with a flick of his hand and starts looking for movies to put on. He may be black and blue, but the least he can do is be a good host.

Clint looks displeased. "You really had me worried there. I thought you were done for when I saw you go flying into that building."

"I've been through worse, you've seen me go through worse."

Clint leans forward, careful not to touch any injuries, and kisses him. A biting, firm kiss with a little slip of the tongue. He waits six-point-seven seconds before pulling back. "I'm just glad you're not dead."

"I'm glad I'm not dead, too." Tony smiles and pats the space by his left side. "C'mere. Not being dead calls for a celebration."

Clint deftly crawls across the mattress and leans into the pillows beside Tony. "How does one celebrate not being six feet under?"

"With Blade Runner and a handjob. Not at the same time."

Clint tilts his head back and raises an eyebrow. "I know you're insatiable, but seriously, you look like Thor used you as an insole."

Tony smiles broadly. "When I built the suit, I made sure to add a little extra protection around two areas: My brain, and the Stark family jewels."

Clint has to roll his eyes. "Of course you would do that."

"I can even return the favour," Tony adds, holding up his miraculously unbandaged right hand. "It'll take some careful positioning on your part. But that shouldn't be too hard for you, Mister 'The Laws of Human Biology Do Not Apply to Me.'"

Clint looks proud of himself, but still sounds quizzical. "I thought you were left-handed."

"Mostly. But I'm surprisingly ambidextrous, especially with a little practice." Tony outright winks at him. Clint sighs and settles in for the night.

* * *

More weeks pass, as weeks do. One day, Tony stumbles into the kitchen when Steve happens to be enjoying a cup of tea and a stack of pancakes that would be sickening to anyone but a supersoldier.

"Good morning," Steve says as Tony gets the coffee maker going and half-collapses against the counter.

"It's still morning? What the hell is wrong with me," Tony slurs as he wills the coffee to hurry the hell up and get in him.

"Just barely, I'm actually having breakfast for lunch." Steve's one of those godforsaken small talk people, and they hadn't chatted in a while. Oh Jesus. "So, how have you been doing?"

"Okay."

"How's work?"

"Okay."

"And how are things going with your boyfriend? Or ah, partner? Which term do you prefer?"

"Oka-Wait," Tony wakes up right then and there. "My what?"

"Clint. How are things going with Clint?" Steve has a hint of impatience in his voice.

"Me and-No, you've got it all wrong! We're not _dating,_ we're just fucking." Tony makes semi-desperate flailing motions with his hands as he speaks. "You know what that means, right? Did that word exist in the forties?"

"Of course it did," Steve gives his trademark Disapproving Look. "I'm entirely familiar with the concept. But I'm pretty sure you guys are dating."

"Hey, excuse me!" Tony puts his hands on his hips even though it looks ridiculous and melodramatic. "I'm pretty sure _I_ would know if I was dating someone!"

Steve maintains the pinched look on his face, holding his cup halfway to his mouth as if he can't believe the stupidity he's witnessing. "Apparently you wouldn't, because you don't."

"Okay!" Tony plunks into a chair across from Steve, smacking his hands on the table. "Okay, present your evidence for this accusation, Captain Smartypants."

"Bit defensive, aren't we?" Steve takes a long drink before setting the cup down and clasping his hands on the table. "Exhibit A: Whenever we're watching movies or shows all together, you guys always cuddle on the couch."

"Oh, god forbid two men sit too closely together! If their shoulders touch, they must be screwing! Jeez Steve, I hadn't pegged you as a hysterical heterosexual."

"Moving on," Steve sighs. "Exhibit B: You two spend the majority of your free time, and a good portion of your working time, together. And I'm not just referring to your time in bed. Or on tables. Or in my bed."

"We were drunk, I pushed the wrong elevator button, and I said I was sorry." Tony flinches minutely at that particular memory. "And so what? Clint's a great guy. We get along really well. You should be commending us for contributing to that team cohesiveness stuff you keep talking about."

"I do commend you on that point. I'm happy you two are getting along." Steve holds his hands out palms-up. "But there's also Exhibit C: You two do couple-y things all the damn time."

Tony snorts derisively. "Couple-y? Great English there, Cap. And what do 'couple-y things' entail?"

Steve starts counting off on his fingers. "Leaving each other notes, making or buying each other food outside of group meals, having long conversations about your hopes and dreams- I happened to walk by an open door and hear a small snippet, don't give me that face, -kissing each other goodbye and hello when you think no one is looking, getting each other little gifts for no reason, looking at each other all doe-eyed constantly, complimenting each other all the time, shall I go on?"

Tony blanches and stares horrified into space. "Oh my god, me and Clint are dating."

"Clint and I," Steve corrects as he reached over and pats Tony's shoulder sympathetically.

"But, but how did this happen? This can't happen." Tony shakes his head violently. "I'm Iron Man! I could die at any moment! That kind of lifestyle is not conducive to a relationship! And the same goes for Clint! Except he's Hawkeye, not Iron Man."

Steve frowns again, but it's sad instead of disappointed. "You are an Avenger, but you're still a person. You deserve to have a life in between saving the world."

"I do?" Tony honestly doesn't know.

"Yes, you do." Steve replies in his "I am Captain America, hear me roar" voice. "You and Clint have been doing just fine so far. There's no reason you can't keep it going, as long as you're both happy and in agreement about the whole thing. It's probably best that you're both Avengers. You understand each other's lives better. You don't have worry about the same things I have to worry about with Pep-Oops."

Tony, since he's still pre-coffee, takes a moment to process that. "Pep? As in Pepper? As in _Pepper Potts?_ "

Steve turns a remarkable shade of red. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to let that slip. We were going to wait and tell you together-"

"You're _dating_ my Pepper Potts?"

"Well, she doesn't belong to you, but yes-"

"Oh my god!" Tony stands up quickly and presses his hands to his eyes. "This, this is not okay. Captain goddamn America is dating my ex. No, no, no. This isn't even close to being okay. Why. Why is this happening."

"Tony! Don't be like that,-"

"'Don't be like that?' My worldview has been turned upside down! I have some words for you, Captain Skirt-chaser! To start off-"

"Hey!" Steve cuts in, face lighting up with the possibility of a distraction. "Clint's leaving on a five-day training exercise with Coulson at dinnertime tonight! If you don't go talk to him now, you'll be climbing the walls until he gets back!"

Tony freezes before switching tracks completely. "You're right. I have got to go sort this out. Thanks, Steve!" He turns on his heel and darts out of the room. Steve breathes a sigh of relief.

"Don't think you're off the hook for that!" Tony's voice trails down the hallway.

Steve massages his forehead and goes for Tony's abandoned coffee. "'Captain Skirt-chaser?'..."

* * *

After making an inquiry to JARVIS, Tony finds Clint in the kitchenette of his workshop.

"Hey good-looking," Clint smiles and walks over to him, plate in hand. "I was just going to come get you up. Made you this."

Tony takes the plate. It's a roast beef sandwich made just the way he likes it. He gets a pained look on his face. "Clint, I think we're dating."

Clint does a slight double take. "What?"

"Steve asked how my 'boyfriend' was doing, and if a wholesome guy like him- Well, I guess not so much anymore, - is noticing, I mean. I'm saying that this," Tony flaps a hand between them. "This is not just friends with benefits. We're in fucking love. And if you have an explanation for how it happened, I'd love to hear it."

Clint looks off to the side in thought, before shaking his head and smiling. "Yeah, I guess we are. Don't know how it happened, but it's okay."

"It is?"

"Well, if it's been going on this long without a hitch, no reason we can't keep it going, right?" Tony shivers slightly from the deja vu. Clint steps closer to put his hands around Tony's waist. "But if we're a couple, we should starting acting more like one. We've been together six months and you haven't even taken me out to dinner yet."

Tony laughs softly and copies Clint's action. "Sorry, I'm usually more of a gentleman than that. I'll be sure to start wining and dining you the second you get back."

"I can hardly wait."

Tony runs his thumb rhythmically over Clint's hipbone. "Fair warning. Relationships are not my strong point."

"They aren't mine, either." Clint shrugs when Tony looks at him in mild surprise. "Natasha was the only one I tried to make it work with, but obviously it didn't. Let's take it slow and call it a learning experience."

"Agreed." Tony leans and presses his face to Clint's neck. It feels so nice, so easy, he could fall asleep again right there. "So does that mean you won't pressure me to put a ring on it?"

Clint laughs a clipped, snorting kind of laugh. "Don't worry, there's no white picket fences in our near future."

They stand there for a while, pressing lazy kisses to each other's necks, adjusting to this new thing between them. At length, Tony speaks up. "We're going to have sex to celebrate this before you leave, right?"

"Oh god yes."

**_FIN_**

**Post-Credits Scene**

"Tony?" Steve enters the darkened workshop hesitantly, hoping not to trip over any errant robots. "JARVIS said you wanted to see me? Where are you?"

"Over here."

Steve shuffles in the direction Tony's voice seems to be coming from. When he gets near Tony's workstation, floodlights pointed directly at his face turn on, blinding him.

"Tony! What the hell is going on?" Steve tries to shield his eyes and catches a glimpse of Tony, sitting in shadow behind his workstation.

"Good evening, Steve. I'm not sure if you're aware, but Pepper and I had a little discussion recently. She convinced me that you two are indeed happily in love, and I no longer have any desire to interfere in that."

"Um, that's good. But why-"

"Nevertheless, there are some things that need to be made clear." Tony snaps his fingers and a scrolling holo-screen appeared in front of Steve. "As you know, Pepper is one of my closest friends and the person upon whom Stark Industries' survival depends. That is a bulleted list of the consequences you will suffer if you cause her any harm or unnecessary, non-Avenging-related distress. It has been sent to your email and is permanently stored on your hard drive for reference."

Steve glances at the fast-moving list and stands a little straighter when he sees some of the proposed punishments next to "break her heart."

"Believe me when I say this: No matter where we travel, what dimensions we fall into, what planets we go to, you will never find as great a woman as Pepper. She is the best thing that will ever happen to you, and you better damn well remember that. You treat her like the queen that she is and nothing less."

Steve clears his throat and blinks in the bright light. "If I ever hurt her, I'd do far worse to myself before you could even get a hold of me."

Tony hums in the darkness. "So you really do love her, then?"

Steve unconsciously shuffles his feet, feeling exposed. "I've never felt the same way about anyone else in my entire life."

A pause. "Good answer." Tony snaps his fingers again and the lights go back to normal. "If you two get married, I had better be best man to at least one of you. And be aware that I will build or buy the noisiest possible toys for any red-headed, broad-shouldered children you may have."

Tony spins around in his chair and starts playing with schematics. Steve waits a moment, and instead of leaving, walks up behind Tony and hugs him tightly.

"Argh! What are you doing? Assault! This is assault!"

"Pepper's really lucky to have a friend who cares as much as you do." Steve grins and dodges Tony's flailing hands. "Even if you have a weird way of showing it. Good night, Tony."

Steve releases the struggling man and swiftly heads for the door, ignoring Tony's shouts behind him. "Hey! I wasn't being a good friend, I was threatening you, for Christ's sakes! What's your problem? Did they forget to defrost your brain or- Are you listening to me, Steve? Steve! Get back here! Pay attention when I'm talking to you! Steeeeeve!"


	7. Lots of Knots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A request from ArielT on AO3 for Clint/Coulson and Coulson’s knowledge of knots.
> 
> First attempt writing porn. Oh geez oh geez oh geez, HERE I GO.
> 
> Warning for smut, bondage, language, and lovey-dovey enthusiastically consensual goodness. 
> 
> Quick shout-out to the lovely berth of available sex-positivity research on the Internet. It was exceptionally helpful in this endeavour.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Clint asks, scanning Phil’s face for any hint of displeasure. “You don’t have to try it just because I want to.”

“I’d tell you if I didn’t want to.” Coulson looks sideways over the glasses perched precariously on his nose. They’re sitting beside each other on Phil’s couch. Clint’s clutching a notebook displaying some kind of balloon map titled “Ideas” and a chart labelled “Yes,” “Maybe,” and “No.” Phil’s laptop has several tabs open with different sites Clint had shown him. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” Clint leans his head back against the couch, pressing his arm against Phil’s. “You’re kinda hard to read, that’s all.”

“I am? I’ve never heard that outside of work.”

“Outside of work you usually aren’t too bad, but I’m getting a closed-off vibe from you right now.”

“Sorry.” Phil takes off his glasses and rubs one temple. “I just had a long day. When I was finishing up my paperwork I had to look at my I.D. to see if I was spelling my name right.”

“Aw, you poor thing. You should have told me.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Phil sets the glasses down and grasps Clint’s hand. “I’m glad you brought it up and I’m looking forward to trying it.” That brings a smile to Clint’s face as he leans in for a kiss. “Wouldn’t refuse a shoulder rub right now, though.”

Clint grins again before moving their stuff onto the coffee table and turning them both sideways. “But of course.”

* * *

It was a few weeks before they actually got a chance to try it. A few world-saving missions and the paperwork that followed really cut into their alone time. But finally, it’s a quiet Saturday night. They’re at Phil’s cozy, out-of-the-way apartment and Clint’s making dinner and silently swearing vengeance on anyone who would dare interrupt their evening.

Clint comes out of the kitchen holding two plates and nearly spills them in surprise when he walks into the living room. Phil has some of the special rope Clint bought at the “adult play” store (which for all intents and purposes looks like the real thing other than being oddly rosy pink), and is continuously tying, untying, and retying it around the ankle propped on his knee.

“What are you doing?”

“Hmm? Oh, thanks.” Phil pauses to take a plate and set it on the coffee table in front of him. “I’m just trying to figure out which knot is best. I’d hate for things to be going good, only to have you twist your wrist the wrong way.”

“So considerate.” Clint pats his cheek and sits down beside him. He gets halfway through his dinner before he gives Phil the the side-eye. “The food I made you is getting cold. How many knots do you know, exactly?”

“Hundred and-That’s the one!” Phil takes the rope off and sets it aside. “Hundred and six in total.”

Clint raises one eyebrow. “You really do learn something new every day.”

* * *

Dinner was eaten. Dishes were washed and left in the rack to dry. Speedy showers were taken. At last, at eight fifty-three p.m. by Phil’s alarm clock, they’re in bed together.

They’re both in their underwear, though Phil insisted on putting his undershirt back on as well. Clint was sure he did it just to be frustrating, so he rolls them over and yanks it off so fast he hears a couple stitches pop. Phil puts his teeth hard against Clint’s neck as a warning, but he just snickers and carries on.

Clint absolutely loves this. Kissing, touching, and rolling around in Phil’s ridiculously large bed, his only visible luxury. Not matter how excited he may be for the main act, he always wants both of them burning with it before they even get there. And judging by the way Phil always arches into every touch, he loves it too.

Dragging his hands up the other man’s back. Gripping the back of his neck to make their kiss extra satisfying. Making a contented, high little noise when Phil’s hands find his ass and squeeze hard. Feeling his breath coming harder against his neck, his chest, his hip. Mapping his body with mouth over and over, because it’s completely familiar and completely new all at once.

Boxers are thrown to the floor. Phil hoists Clint up on the bed,- he’s way stronger than he looks, god that’s hot -so that his head is resting on the pillows, before pulling back to look him in the eye. A warm feeling of satisfaction rolls through Clint’s gut. He’s the only one who gets to see the legendary Agent Coulson with his hair all messed up, lips slightly swollen, and face patchy and red. “Shall we?” Phil asks, slightly out of breath, looking towards the supplies on the bedside table.

“Let’s.” Clint leans back and gets comfortable. He smiles as Phil ties his wrists and ankles to the bedposts. A serious look on his face as he adjusts and readjusts, making sure Clint is completely at ease. Afterwards, he balances himself over Clint so they can kiss slow and exploring. Then he moves down and down and oh, _fuck_ yes.

For all his insistence early on that he “hadn’t had much time for relationships in his life” and “wasn’t particularly experienced” at anything beyond the basics, Phil was _good._ Of course, that could probably be attributed to how tuned in he was to Clint, how well he knew him. But that was a tad too sentimental and complex for where Clint’s head was at the moment.

Heat. Tongue, lots of tongue. Movement. Swallowing. Even breathing. The tiniest, slightest graze of teeth in the right places. Clint quickly goes from clear verbal encouragement to a broken stream of growly, barely audible syllables. Clint strains at the bonds and it makes everything that much better. He can’t use his arms or legs to push and insist and change, he can only lay there and let Phil take care of him.

It goes on and on, Phil’s a determined man. Clint tries to hold out, but he’s rocking into it before he even realizes. He feels his muscles start clenching and releasing in a clear rhythm. His voice is tight and begging. He’s starting to gasp when Phil stops and pulls off completely.

Clint lifts his head groggily. Phil’s propped up on his elbows, one hand under his chin and the other on the inside of Clint’s hip, the same bright little grin he gives visitors to his office on his face. “What’re you doing?”

“Oh nothing, why? What are _you_ doing?”

“I was gonna come.”

Phil’s grin becomes downright impish. “Yeah, I know.”

Clint wants to protest, but Phil moves his hand to the sensitive underside of his knee. He decides to just relax into the bonds and enjoy that instead. Long minutes go by, Phil’s fingers keep rubbing and Clint’s breath evens out. Phil leans up to kiss him deeply before going back to business.

It starts all over again. Good, great, excellent, getting close, closer, so close, so close, and _nope._ Phil pulls off once more and smiles at him. He doesn’t look at all hot or bothered, even though Clint knows he must be. Cheeky bastard.

“Y’know,” Clint grumbles. “Blue balls aren’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

“Funny, that’s not the impression I got from those bookmarks you gave me.” Phil continues rubbing the inside of Clint’s thigh while he looks up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“You’re not allowed on the internet anymore. It’s a bad influence on you.”

“Love you too.”

Clint’s breathing relaxes again, and again Phil starts it all over. Except this time he goes fast and hard. No mercy. No letting up. Clint feels like his brain is going to be sucked out. And just as he flies towards the edge, Phil stops him on a dime.

“Filthy...fucking... _tease."_ Clint gasps, voice gone thready and needy. He bucks and squirms frustrated into empty air. “Let me come already, I’m begging you. _Please_ finish me off.”

Clint whines shamelessly when Phil choose to ignore him and rub the underside of his knee again. Clint could whip out the safeword at any time, it wouldn’t be a problem. But he knows, and Phil knows too, that this will pay off in the end. Whether Clint will be able to make it to the end is another question entirely.

Phil’s fingers slow, a thoughtful look coming over his face. He crawls up so he can bend down next to Clint’s ear. He whispers one of the ideas they came up with yesterday, unusual shyness colouring his voice. Clint laughs breathlessly and presses his face to Phil’s neck.

“Go for it.” He pauses so he can lean up for a kiss. “But I swear to god if you do not get me off afterwards, I will make you suffer.”

Phil laughs and kisses him again. “Fair enough.”

He retrieves the lube from the bedside table before untying Clint’s left ankle. He takes a moment to put the limb through its motions. Clint plants his foot on the mattress and watches while Phil slicks up the back of his knee. It was one of the more random things that had come up during their big discussion. Clint had just thrown it out there. Phil had been surprised, but seemed thoughtful afterwards, now Clint knew why. And despite his own frustration, he was interested in seeing the results.

Phil moves Clint’s foot so that it’s nearly flush against his thigh. While he’s getting up on his knees, Clint cocks his hips a little sideways so Phil will be more facing him. Though his first thrust is tentative, Clint can feel how turned on he is. He hadn’t even noticed before, which would normally make him feel a little neglectful. But hey, he's tied to a bed. Cut a guy some slack.

Phil’s movements speed up and Clint decides he ought to participate instead of laying there like a cold fish. He concentrates on relaxing his muscles as Phil thrusts in, and clenching them as he pulls out. Once they find a rhythm, Clint’s able to go on cruise control and enjoy the sensations Phil’s actions produce. He’s so sensitive by this point, he trembles a little with each movement. The underside of his knee feels like the pins and needles you get when your foot falls asleep, but better. So much better.

Clint realizes he’s been making soft, encouraging noises just as Phil’s hips stutter against him. He catches Phil’s eyes just at the right moment. They’re half-closed to match his slightly parted lips. Every miniscule part of him is wide open and shameless. He’s silent as always, but Clint loves that. It’s so him.

Clint smiles wide when Phil curls against his side for a moment, breathing hard. He hadn’t lasted as long as he usually did. It made Clint feel a little proud, getting Phil all wound up just by being his sexy self.

“Do you want it tied again?” Phil huffs, sitting up and grabbing the rope.

Clint flexes his fingers experimentally before answering. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Phil expertly ties Clint’s ankle back in place, then crawls between his legs. The grin returns. “Ready?”

“Fucking right I am. Get on with it.”

Phil laughs and shakes his head. He gets on with it, as per Clint’s request. He sucks, does obscene rolls and strokes with his tongue, and shows off how controlled his gag reflex really is. His hands move continuously, displacing hair along and in between Clint’s legs. And all Clint can do is groan and writhe.

His orgasm hits him, finally, like a goddamn train. He arches his back and shakes from head to toe. He cries out in an entirely unmanly fashion. Moments later, as Phil’s undoing the ropes, he’s still trembling and his brain’s just starting to come back online. Phil runs a finger over the red mark on one ankle, which is slightly tender but far from lasting, and Clint outright purrs.

The older man encourages him off the bed and into the bathroom to clean up. They briefly discuss the experience. Clint laughs quietly to himself, because it sounds just like a post-mission debrief. They hold each other for a few moments and say how great the other did. Phil returns to the bedroom and strips off the topsheet, tosses it perfectly into the laundry basket, flips the squashed pillows, and gets the covers out for them.

Phil climbs on the bed first and holds the blanket open. Clint happily follows, choosing to lay on his back on top of Phil, before stretching out both his arms and resting his hands underneath Phil’s head. “Thank you.”

“For the sex?” Phil asks, lifting his head up at a slightly uncomfortable angle to kiss Clint.

“No, for trying.” Clint twists around to better enjoy the loving, lingering kisses. “Aw fuck, you’ve made me go all sappy. Damn it Phil, you had one job.”

“To keep you from becoming sentimental?”

“Yeah, it’s part of your duties as my handler.” Clint rolls over and moves down, tucking his head in the crook of his partner’s neck. He reaches up with his right hand, pressing it against the far edge of Phil’s jaw and resting fingertips in Phil’s hair. “But I guess it’s an unavoidable hazard. I love you too damn much not to get all stupid about it.”

Phil puts his hand on top of Clint’s hand. “The feeling is entirely mutual.”

_ **FIN** _


	8. The Genius in the Wood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A request for Obie trapping Tony in a tower and Steve being the polite, charming rogue who comes to rescue him from sarimia and/or ussevenprise.
> 
> I apologize for making Bucky into a horse but really, can you blame me?
> 
> PG-14 for language, violence, and Tony-innuendos.

_Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a king and queen who ruled over a vast kingdom. The kingdom was rich and advanced, especially the castle itself, but the king and queen had no heir to inherit it. They eventually became so desperate that the king asked a wizard to help them. The wizard agreed to cast a spell that would assure them a child, but only if he could be named the child’s godfather._

_No sooner had they acquiesced than the queen became pregnant. The child that was born was astoundingly intelligent, handsome, and charismatic. The kingdom was relieved that there would be someone worthy to take over when their beloved king and queen passed away._

_They didn’t have to wait long. The king and queen died in a tragic accident on their child’s eighteenth birthday. And instead of taking the reins, the heir had supposedly died as well. His body was never buried, having been “stolen by wolves.” The king’s wizard acquaintance took over instead, promising peace and prosperity but bringing only war and greed. It has been so long since the rule of the king and queen, that few people even recall that there was an heir to begin with._

_Our story begins in a small, quiet village a short distance away from the castle. Where a decaying tower on the edge of town is the centre of a particular legend..._

* * *

“Whoa! Whoa, boy!” Steve calls as he pulls on the reins to get the animal to stop. He waves a hand at the young woman across the dirt road. “Pardon me, young lady! Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“I think you just did.” The woman pushes a few red curls behind her ear and moves her sack of books to her other shoulder. “But since you used your manners, you may ask another one.”

“Thank you.” Steve smiles broadly. “I’ve heard that there is a princess trapped in a tower around here, where might that tower be?”

The woman can’t suppress her laughter. “That’s just a story we tell to the children. I highly doubt there’s anything but rats in that old thing.”

“Perhaps. But if there is a princess up there, then there’s no shame in trying. Could you give me directions to it?”

The redhead shrugs and points in the direction from which she came. “Ride straight through the village, then take the shepherd’s path through the hills. The tower is impossible to miss. But you won’t be able to get close, there’s thick brambles all around it.”

“I think I can handle that.” Steve pats the sword at his side. “Thank you for your help. May I ask your name? I feel rude bothering you and not knowing it.”

She smiles. “It’s Pepper.”

“My name is Steve. If everything works out, I’ll find a way to repay you for your help. Have a good day!” He clicks his tongue and rides off in the direction of the village.

Pepper watches him for a moment before walking again and rolling her eyes. “Rogues.”

* * *

“There’s the tower, just like she said! And still plenty of daylight to spare. One less night we have to camp out in the woods, eh Bucky?”

The horse snorts seemingly in agreement, a relieved expression appears to come over its brown face.

When they get close, they realize Pepper wasn’t kidding about the brambles. They’re nearly thirty feet thick and sharp as knives, but Steve’s sword quickly cuts a path through them and all the way around the tower. But there’s no door to be found.

“Why would someone build a tower without a door?” Steve squints up through the afternoon sun and sees a window near the top. “Do I have to act like in fairytales and say ‘let down your hair?’”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, a part of the tower wall slides back to reveal a staircase. Steve and Bucky nearly jump into the brambles in surprise.

“O-kay then, I guess that worked.” Steve glances back down the path he cut and thinks for a moment. “Go hide in the woods Bucky, I’ve got a bad feeling about leaving you here.”

Bucky stomps his feet and whinnies stubbornly.

Steve reaches up to pat his neck. “I’ll be fine. But you can’t come with me and I don’t want you getting hurt or stolen. Can you do this for me? Please?”

Bucky stares at him for a moment before turning so Steve can remove the shield strapped to his side. With another pat on the neck, he’s off. Steve makes sure he’s out of sight before ascending the stairs. Once he’s inside, the brambles shudder and close tightly behind him, followed by the door. Steve gasps and swallows hard, suddenly very glad he sent Bucky away.

After climbing the ridiculously long staircase, Steve finds himself in a large round room at the top of the tower. He’s startled by what he finds. Aside from a small bed and a few cooking implements, the room is filled with tables and shelves of metal objects and wire and flasks of oddly-coloured liquid. Some of the metal things have brightly glowing blue lights inside them. He straightens up a little before walking to the centre of the room.

“Uh, hello?” His voice sounds too loud and echoes. “Is anyone here? I heard-” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, something hard and heavy whacks him on the back of the head.

Steve falls to the ground, but doesn’t pass out. He rolls over and gets his shield up. His blurred vision clears after a moment. A brown-haired man with a small beard is standing over him brandishing a large metal tool.. He’s not exactly middle-aged, but definitely older than Steve. “Who are you?”

“Who am I? You’re the one breaking in here! Who are _you?_ ”

“I’m not breaking in!” Steve holds his shield up as the man gets ready to hit him again. “I-I heard there was a princess locked up here! I was coming to rescue her!”

The man lowers his makeshift weapon. “Is that how they’re saying it? Well, drop two S’s and you’d be right. And who are you supposed to be? A white knight come to save the fair maiden?”

“Well, sort of. I mean, I’m not actually a knight. I wanted to be but they didn’t accept me for training-But that’s not important. My name is Steve Rogers.” Steve stands up and dusts himself off. “And if you’re a prince-”

“Shh!” The man claps a hand over Steve’s mouth. He’s about to protest when he hears heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. “Shit, this is bad. Really bad. Um, here!” He practically throws Steve into a big cupboard. “Be quiet, okay? Or we’re both toast.”

The doors are shut and Steve obeys but looks out through a small knothole in the wood. A large bald man with a white beard and expensive robes enters the room and claps the man on the shoulder. “Sorry I can’t stay long, Tony. I have some business to take care of. Did you finish the machine?”

“Yeah, it’s over here.” Tony walks over to a table and picks up a glowing box. The larger man takes it and looks at it with admiration.

“Nice work! Keep it up and you’ll be as good as your father someday.” He smiles and Tony returns it, but his seems forced. The man sets a basket down on the table. “I got you more parts. I put your dinner and some wine in there as well. I’ll be back tomorrow around noon. Do you need anything else?”

“No thanks! I’m good.” Tony says a little too quickly.

The man raises an eyebrow, but heads for the door anyways. “Well, see you tomorrow. Don’t work too hard.”

“Haha. See you later, Obie.” The door closes and Tony stands stock-still until the footsteps can no longer be heard. He runs to the window and seems to watch Obie leave. After a long while, he lets Steve out of the cupboard.

“Whew, that was close. Obie would so not have been happy to see you. I mean, I don’t even know how you-Hey, what’s wrong?” Tony looks quizzically at the distressed look on Steve’s face.

“That man that you called Obie, would he be the wizard Obadiah?”

“I guess he would be, why? Do you know him?”

“How could anyone _not_ know him? He’s the king!”

“...What?” Tony shakes his head. “No he’s not! A cousin of mine is ruling ‘cause I’m stuck up here. Are you sure your head’s on right?”

“Quite sure.” Steve says sharply, not pleased at having his sanity questioned by a guy in a tower. “Wait, ruling instead of you,-” He freezes in shock. “You aren’t Prince Anthony...are you?”

“The one and only.” He grins and holds his arms open, unintentionally showing off the scorchmarks on his black workclothes. “And while I appreciate your efforts, Sir Tall, Blonde, and Handsome, as much as I’d like to, I can’t leave here.”

“Why not?” This has to be the single most baffling day of Steve’s life.

“You must be new around here.” Tony perches on a stool at one of the tables and starts toying with a half-finished invention. “I’m cursed. It’s why my parents died. Some vengeful wizard they didn’t invite to a party or some shit. Obie’s magic keeps me safe, but only if I stay in here. The second I leave, I’m a dead man.”

“Cursed?”

“What, don’t believe me? Look at this.” Tony lifts his shirt to reveal a glowing orb in a metal case set in his defined chest, right over his heart. “Same accident that killed them almost killed me. I’m lucky to be alive.”

Steve mentally stumbles for a moment. He has so many things to say that he doesn’t know where to start. But Tony pulls his shirt down and keeps on talking.

“Actually, people who come near me are supposed to be cursed, too. Unless you’re a wizard or witch, but I don’t think you are. You better get out of here while you still have time. Nice meeting you.”

Tony turns back to his worktable and Steve stays where he is. “Nobody knows you survived.”

Tony’s hand still after a moment. “What did you say?”

“Everyone thinks you died too, in the accident. Obadiah told everyone that wolves took your body. And you don’t have a cousin, Obadiah’s the one ruling the kingdom.”

Tony turns and glares at him. “You’re crazy. Obie’s practically my dad, he wouldn’t lie to me like that.”

Steve’s controlled anger boils over. He has an answer to a question everyone’s been asking for years. “Yes he would! He’s a tyrant. The kingdom is in ruins while he sits pretty in his castle! We start war after war, and _you’re_ the one making the weapons!”

Tony glances back at the table before standing up and storming over to Steve. “You’re lying! They invaded us first!”

“That’s not true and you know it! This kingdom has no enemies!”

Tony takes another step forward and gets in Steve’s face. “Why should I believe some random guy who says he was trying to rescue a princess?”

A smirk flickers over Steve’s face. “Why should I believe some random guy who says he’s a dead prince?”

Tony stares into his eyes and his expression falters. He walks back to his table and rests his hands on the edge. His shoulders shake minutely, but silence stretches between the two men.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Tony’s head jerks up at Steve’s voice, but he doesn’t turn around. “I do believe that you’re who you say you are. I know you don’t believe me. But I do know how to get out of this tower. If you come with me, just for a little while, nothing will happen to you and you’ll see that I’m telling the truth.”

Tony looks over his shoulder. “And what if you’re not? What if I really am cursed?”

“Then I’ll save you if I can, and rush you back to the tower. It’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

“And what if you can’t save me in time?”

Steve swallows. “Then I’ll take my own life as penance.”

Tony affixes him with a critical look. “You’d do all that just to prove a point?”

“It’s a point worth proving.” Steve takes the same steadfast pose he did when he was trying to enter knight training. “I swear on my life that I’ll do as I’ve said.”

Tony is silent for a long time. “Literally. Okay, I’ll try it. Don’t ever call me unfair.” He reaches out to shake Steve’s hand and quickly gathers some essentials into a bag before they leave.

Steve leads Tony down the stairs, ignores his loud disgust at the password, cuts them a new path through the brambles, and whistles for Bucky, who gallops up so fast he nearly runs into Steve.

Steve scratches Bucky’s neck, readjusts his gear, and thanks him for doing as he asked. He looks back, expecting the man to be sneering at him for lavishing affection on a horse. Instead Tony’s facing away from him, tense and looking expectantly at the empty field around them.

“I don’t get it. Obie said the curse would take hold instantaneously...”

“I’m sure he said a lot of things.” Steve grunts as he mounts the horse. “This isn’t going to be pleasant, but it’s either this or going back in that tower and spending the rest of your life trying to pretend that nothing’s wrong. Your choice.”

Tony takes a second before turning around. “Be a little politer when you’re speaking to royalty.”

“My apologies, your Majesty.” Steve smiles and extends a hand.

Tony looks at Steve, then at the single-person-saddle, then Steve again before grinning. “Getting your arms around me already? Shouldn’t we be introduced at a ball first, or something?”

Steve’s face flushes more than he’d like it to. He grabs Tony’s hand and pulls him up so fast he nearly loses his balance. “What have I gotten myself into?”

* * *

Steve frowns when Tony ignores the supper set on the blanket in front of him.They’d spent the day discreetly wandering the small village. Tony had seen the list of war dead, the begging woman and children, the complete absence of technology. He’d overheard all the village gossip about what the king would put them through next. He hadn’t died. He was convinced.

So convinced that he wanted to attack Obadiah in his castle at dawn. Steve had tried to talk him out of it, saying there had to be another way. That maybe he could go back to the tower and plan ahead. But Tony insisted he knew what he was doing. He’d picked apart an abandoned iron horse that they’d found and was now pouring over drawings he’d made on scraps of paper. None of it made any sense to Steve, but he trusted Tony in that respect after seeing the workshop he’d called home for so many years. And how effective his weapons were. He wanted to see the evil wizard taken down just as much as anyone, if not more.

The silence in their tiny camp (the village had no inn or available rooms, the woods were their only option) was deafening. Steve felt compelled to say something. “Uh, if you’ll forgive me for intruding, I have to ask. That...orb in your chest, what does it do? Did Obie put it there?”

Tony shook his head as if shaking off a dream, snatching a glance at Steve before speaking. “I was in the carriage with my parents, we were going out to the country for my birthday. We were going over a bridge and when we got to the middle it collapsed. We all fell down the ravine. I got something metal stuck in my chest before I passed out. When I woke up, I was tied down and some kind of glowing ghost-person was putting this in my chest.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. “A forest spirit?”

“Apparently so.” Tony shrugs it off like it’s nothing. “Before he-I think it was a he, do spirits have genders? -Before he disappeared, he told me to not waste my life. To do something with it. I thought I was.”

Steve looks into the fire, quiet for a moment. “I’m so sorry about all of that.”

“I’m sorry about all that, too. And I’m sorry I believed a guy who kept me locked in a tower. I’m sorry my parents even wished for me in the first place. I can be sorry all I want and it’s not going to do anything.” Tony looks back at his drawings and starts rapidly scribbling something.

“You shouldn’t be sorry you were born. A forest spirit wouldn’t have saved you if you didn’t have a reason to keep on living.”

“Oh yeah? And what reason might that be?”

“I think you’ll defeat Obadiah, and when you do, I think you’ll take over and you’ll be a good king. I think you’ll be able to undo the bad things he’s done.”

“You sure about all that stuff you’re thinking?”

“I feel very strongly about it, yes.” He’d seen it in Tony’s eyes all day. An unmistakable goodness untainted by spoiling and sheltering. If he was nothing else, Steve was a good judge of people.

Tony looks over at him and smiles slightly. “You talk kinda funny. What’s up with that?”

“I do not!” Steve says it petulantly, but he smiles when Tony smiles. “I just prefer to be well-mannered. My mother raised a gentleman.”

“I wonder how she’d feel about her gentleman son helping a prince overthrow a tyrant.”

“So do I. She’s dead.”

“Oh. Sorry. What about your dad?”

“Same. No siblings either, it’s just Bucky and I.”

Tony looks curiously up at the horse that he’s sure has been examining him since this afternoon. “Sounds difficult. No wonder you were looking for a princess to shack up with.”

“That was not my intention! If you hear about a young woman locked up in a tower, then it’s your duty to try and help her!”

Tony laughs loudly. “Man, what a saint. You said they didn’t let you in for knight training? Were they drunk?”

Steve sighs and pokes at the fire. “I was a sickly child. No matter where I go, as soon as they ask about that, I’m done.”

“So why not lie to them? You definitely aren’t sick now.”

“That would be wrong.”

“You are unreal. Stop it, I’m getting a toothache.”

They spend the rest of the night like that. Trading quips and telling stories of their younger years as Tony’s machine gets bigger and bigger. When the moon sits low in the Eastern sky, Tony presses a button on the large mechanical thing and it collapses small enough to fit in a saddle bag. They mount the horse and head for the castle.

“You know, I have to give credit where credit is due.” Steve says into Tony’s hair as they navigate out of the woods. “How you make those machines is amazing. Is it magic?”

“Magic mixed with metalworking: Technology. Obie only knows magic, and he’s cocky about it. That might give me a little leg up. I hope it’s enough.”

“If it’s not, I’m with you.”

“What? No. You’re dropping me off at the front door and getting the hell out of there. This isn’t your fight.”

“I pledged my life to you, didn’t I? I’m not going to backpedal on that now.”

“But that was just about getting me out of the tower and the non-existent curse-!!”

“Now is not the time to worry about technicalities, your Majesty.” Steve smirks as the castle comes into view.

They stop in a grove of trees close enough to scope out the castle, but far enough away to be hidden. Every possible entrance is surrounded by guards. “Damn, how are we supposed to get in?”

“I know a way!” Pepper says in Steve’s ear and both men nearly shriek in surprise.

“Pepper! Where did you come from?”

“How do you two know each other?”

“That’s immaterial at this moment, your Majesty.” Pepper smiles and shifts in the saddle of her rusty red mare. “If you two ate more carrots, you might have been able to see that you were camping in my backyard. I want to help. Job security is not worth letting that awful man continue as he is.”

“Not to be rude, but how are you going to help?” Steve pauses for a second and shakes his head, pointing at Tony. “And how do you know who he is?”

“Part of being the royal secretary involves curating the old royal portrait collection, and knowing where the secret passageways are. Also, I brought his Majesty his own horse.” Pepper gestures behind her to the pale brown horse tied to her saddle.

Tony grins as he gets onto his own ride. “I like your friend, Steve.”

* * *

“This one will lead us to the throne room,” Pepper whispers. The dirt floor of the tunnel thankfully muffles the horses’ hooves, they didn’t have the luxury of leaving them outside this time.

“Won’t that be a little conspicuous?” Steve hisses back.

“No one will be in there at this hour. Ah, here we go.” Pepper pulls a tapestry back and leads them into the large, dark room. “Just as I said,-”

“Empty?” A finger-snap is heard and the torches light themselves. The group whirls around to see Obadiah sitting on the throne, a smug look on his face.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. You don’t really think I got to be where I am without having ears everywhere, do you?” He shakes his head. “Such a shame. I’m going to miss your wonderful brain, Tony. But I knew you’d do something like this eventually.”

“Then why didn’t you just kill me when you had the chance?” Tony spits, voice tight with restrained rage. “Why help me be born in the first place?”

“It was a very long-term plan.” The smug grin widens manically. “And I tried! It didn’t quite work. But thanks for supporting the war effort.”

Tony’s eyes go dark. “You fucking monster.”

“Enough of this fooling around.” Obadiah holds up his hand, a glowing orb appears on his palm and rockets towards the ceiling, blasting a giant hole. Tony grabs his machine out of the saddlebag and presses a button. The metal unfolds and wraps around him, encasing him in a suit and attaching itself to the orb in his chest.

“Ah, a fair fight then.” Obadiah floats himself towards the sky, Tony following quickly behind. Right before he leaves the building, he shouts “Guards!”

Armed goons fill the room. Tony brakes in mid-air and looks back at his friends. Steve draws his sword and pulls Pepper to his side. “Don’t worry about us! Go get him!”

Tony listens for once, and Steve gets to dispatching the guards. There’s a lot, enough to overwhelm him. But the horses, rather than scattering, step up to the challenge and land many a helpful well-placed kick. Steve gets scratched and banged up in the process of protecting Pepper. Even when he gets a hold of his shield, there’s just too many guards coming from too many angles.

A sword makes a beeline for his neck and Steve can’t move fast enough to save himself. At the last moment, Pepper comes up from underneath his arm and knocks the weapon out of the guard’s hands. Another hit and he’s down on the ground. Steve nearly stumbles in confusion.

Pepper whips around, knocks out another guard, and holds up her high-heeled weapons. “Steel-bottomed shoes, never leave home without ‘em.”

Eventually, the last guard collapses to the floor. Steve is regretting buying only leather armour and Pepper’s hands are covered in her own blood, but they rush out into the courtyard anyways. Tripping over items abandoned by the servants who already fled the castle, they look up and watch the fight helplessly.

The sun is just starting to come up, so all that can be seen of them is two black shapes and sudden streaks of light. They’re moving a little erratically after fighting for so long. They land hit after hit on each other, it seems like it will never end. Finally, Tony gets a hold of Obadiah. Steve and Pepper can’t see what he does, but a web of energy starts spreading over his body. He grapples desperately with Tony before there’s an explosion and ash rains down over Pepper and Steve.

Pepper screams, half in horror and half in anticipation. Steve keeps staring silently through the ash. Obie is gone, but Tony’s suit is moving in a weird way. It seems to sputter, before it goes still and Tony falls. He drops like a rock and lands in a giant pile of hay forty feet away from them.

_“Tony!”_ Steve rushes over with Pepper and the horses hot on his heels. He wades through the hay and falls to his knees beside Tony. He pulls the chest and face plates off easily, they’d been torn out of their holdings by the impact. Tony’s body lays limp, and is turning as chilly as the early morning air around them. Steve can’t feel a heartbeat or breathing.

“Is he...?” Pepper voice chokes out as Steve hangs his head. Bucky keeps nudging Steve’s shoulder and neighing in distress.

“Goddammit. This isn’t how it was supposed to end. This isn’t like-” Steve pauses as a thought shouts in his brain. “In the fairytales...?”

Bucky nudges hard at his shoulder and neighs louder. Well, there’s no shame in trying. Steve takes a deep breath, ducks his head down, and kisses Tony full on the lips.

Tony’s body warms underneath him, and he pulls away as Tony finally jerks and gasps.

“Oh god, I feel like a herd of elephants ran over me.” Tony writhes a bit before blinking up at Steve’s face. “Did you just do what I think you did?”

“Yes.”

“Was I unofficially dead when you did it?”

“Yes.”

“So you saved my life by making out with me. I’ll have to see you knighted for that.”

“No weird titles at the end of his name.” Pepper cuts in, kneeling on the other side of Tony and carefully removing metal plates from his legs.

“Excuse me? I’m the King, who are you?”

“I’ve been the royal secretary to a psychotic wizard since I was fourteen. You have been hidden away for over a decade and are currently in need of a doctor.”

“Good point. You’re hired.”

* * *

It was a long and difficult process. Of course, it couldn’t be exactly like it was before the wizard took over. But King Anthony worked tirelessly to put things right (because “there’s no use for a king that doesn’t work”), with a little help from his friends.

Pepper and Steve take up residence at the castle. Steve because he had not only been knighted, but also appointed as official royal bodyguard. Pepper, because she felt Tony couldn’t get anything official done without her looking over his shoulder. And also because during the reorganizing and restructuring and crowning business, Bucky and Pepper’s horse, Natasha, had gotten to know each other in the paddock. Both owners were disinclined to split up what would soon be a family of three (four if you count Clint, Tony’s horse, who acted like Natasha’s child even though he wasn’t).

“Ah, the fair Lady Pepper,” Tony smiles up from his Sunday morning chess game with Steve. “Any news for me today?”

“Nothing so far, your Majesty.” Pepper smiles back and writes something in her book. “Although, if you really want to know, your subjects seem to be clamouring for an heir to the throne.”

“Oh, they want me to get married?”

“Well, technically you could just knock up a willing member of the kitchen staff.” Steve stops focusing on his bishop and turns a bit red at that. “But that might reduce your approval ratings for a while, so getting married is the preferable choice.”

“Well that’s easy!” Tony reaches across the table and grabs Steve’s hand. “I have someone picked out already.”

Steve voice comes out high and tight. “Pardon me?”

Pepper glances between them nervously. “Hey, would you look at the time? I’ve got a, um, a valid reason to leave the room quickly. Bye!”

Steve waits until Pepper’s shoes are out of hearing range before speaking again. “You want to marry me?”

“Sure! Why wouldn’t I?”

Steve gets up and walks to the window. It was true that they’d been more or less together since the kiss thing, but he had more than a few concerns about a commitment like that. “I didn’t know you felt that strongly about me. You don’t show it very well.”

Tony walks over and puts his hand on Steve’s back. “What? How could you not know? I shower you with gifts and physical affection every day!”

“And that’s all very nice, especially the latter.” Steve smiles and walks to the next window, with Tony following. “But I didn’t know you before the tower. How am I supposed to know that I’m a special case?”

“How are you special? Let me count the ways.” Tony leans in and nuzzles Steve’s neck. Steve laughs quietly, deftly twists away, and moves to the next window.

“I’m just worried that you feel so attached to me because of the saving-your-life-in-more-ways-than-one thing, and because you haven’t, well, been with anyone else in a long time.”

“Pfft, I got around a lot as a teenager. And Obie used to send along his younger witch friends so I wouldn’t go squirrelly from lack of human contact. Trust me when I say I’ve tried more than my fair share. It’s you I want.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me.” Steve rolls his eyes and walks to the last window. “But there’s one very important thing you seem to be overlooking: I can’t give you an heir.”

“I know that.” Tony comes over and rests his hands on Steve’s waist. “Not to be morbid, but there’s certainly a lot of orphans out there because of all the wars. We could have a hundred little princes and princesses running around if we wanted.”

“I suppose we could.” Steve leans on the window frame and looks down into the courtyard below. “But we’ve only been together for a year and a half...”

“Steve! If you don’t feel the same way, then fine! We don’t have to get married! I’m not _that_ kind of king.” Tony crosses his arms, looks at his feet, and leans onto his side of the window frame.

“I do feel the same way.” Steve reaches over to grasp Tony’s silk-covered shoulder. “I don’t keep coming to your bedchambers nearly every night because I dropped something and I can’t find it.”

Tony cracks up but goes serious again. “Then why do keep coming up with reasons we shouldn’t get married?”

“It’s not that! But I want to do this right. I want us to get formally engaged. That means doing it all properly, and taking a year before we get married. And since things have settled down now, I want you to come out of your workshop and court me properly in that time.”

“So what does that involve? Love letters? Serenades? General gallantry?”

“All of the above. And actually saying you love me, not just showing it. If you do all that, I’ll do the same in return and you can count on me being at the church on time.”

Tony smirks up at him. “That’s still a lot of demands coming from a knight to his king.”

“I’m not asking as a knight.” Steve reaches his other hand out and tucks a stray hair behind Tony’s ear. “I’m asking as the future King Consort.”

“Now see, when you know all this stuff in advance, you take all the fun out of proposing.” Tony grabs one of the ruffles in Steve’s shirt and pulls him in for a kiss. “You wait till you see the ring I made for you. It’s so extravagant we’ll have to hire someone just to polish it.”

“I can’t find fault in job creation, your Majesty.”

“So sassy, not good knight behaviour at all.” Tony presses his face to Steve’s shoulder. “I love you anyways, though.”

“I love you, too.” Steve slides his arms around Tony and listens as he babbles about how spectacular their engagement ball will be. Steve had set out to rescue a damsel in distress, he’d saved something much better.

_And they all lived happily ever after._

**_FIN_**

There are other stories, of how the king and his knight found another forest spirit, a much louder and more personable one, and how the royal scientist came to live with them, and how Clint found a certain someone to share a stall with, but those are for another day...


	9. Guess Who’s Coming to Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anonymous request for some Clint/Coulson.
> 
> Headcanons. Headcanons as far as the eye can see. Also fanboy-Coulson. And establish relationship fluff.
> 
> Natasha keeps eating cereal in my fics, not sure why.
> 
> Rated T for language and in-your-endos.

Problem: An aggravated pseudo-cult group with access to highly-advanced technology starting attacking downtown New York. Solution: The Avengers were sent in to take them down.

Problem: Just before they finished them off, one maniac hit them with a virus that causes serious damage when the host is exposed to sunlight. Solution: Iron Man blasted them all to hell, and everybody ran into Stark Tower, which was thankfully very nearby and had electronically sun-proofed windows (Excluding Thor, who is a god and is exempt from such mortal things, but including Tony, who had his faceplate open at the wrong moment).

Problem: Agent Coulson was on the ground and got hit as well. Solution: He came with them.

Problem: Having a tremendous amount of respect for a certain S.H.I.E.L.D. agent does not make having said shadowy government agent in your house any more comfortable. Solution: Unknown.

_Day 1_

“Tony?” Steve gently shakes his bedmate’s shoulder. “Tony, are you awake?”

Tony peels his eyes open with tremendous effort. “I never thought I’d say this, but not tonight dear, I have a headache.”

Steve chuckles to himself. Everything seems funnier when you’re really tired. “Sorry. I just remembered, did you have one of the spare floors made up for Coulson?”

Tony scrubs at his eyes, trying to remember anything at all that he did today. “Uh, yeah. Yeah I did. He said thanks anyway, but he was just going to bunk with Clint.”

“Huh, that’s odd.”

“It is.” Tony blinks in the darkness, brain slowly booting up. “Hey, you don’t think that they’re-”

_Day 2_

“Together? Yeah, they’ve been official for close to three years now.” Natasha swallows her mouthful of Cheerios and looks at them sideways. “Why do you want to know?”

“Sheer curiosity.” Tony shrugs, hands trying to find non-existent pockets on his pajama pants. “How come they’ve never said anything about it?”

“Because you never asked. As a matter of fact, why aren’t you asking them now?”

“In case we were wrong, we didn’t want things to be awkward.” Steve cuts in, embarrassed that’s he’s been stuck in the tower less than a day and is already stooping to idle gossip.

“Yeah, going behind their backs is definitely less awkward.” Natasha smiles at them as she abandons her empty cereal bowl and leaves the room. Both men gulp loudly without meaning to, and make their own breakfasts. Bruce (who is also restricted by the virus, despite his unusual bio-chemistry) joins them in silence a few moments later.

Tony elbows him after a few minutes of watching him stare blankly at his food. “Good morning, starshine. The earth says hello.”

“What? Oh, sorry.” Bruce jerks his head up and starts twirling his fork between his fingers. “I’m just distracted. I feel like a foster kid waiting for the home inspection.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Because Coulson is here? He’s not here to monitor you, he’s just stuck inside like the rest of us.”

“He trusts you, Bruce. He wants you to live a normal life. Well, as normal as it gets around here, anyways.”

Bruce holds up his hands. “Don’t get me wrong. I feel the same way about him as you do. But he still has a job to do. He faked his own death so we’d work as a team, who’s to say what he’ll do if he doesn’t like how we’re living here?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the way we’re living here. Is there?” Steve suddenly feels unsure about his knowledge of modern taboos.

“He works for the government, he’ll find something. Trust me.” Bruce replies in the voice of a scientist who spent too many years prostrate to a university health and safety committee.

And speak of the devil, along comes Coulson. Jacket and tie absent, but everything else is just as it always is, despite the early hour. He nods a good morning and starts making his food. Clint appears in the doorway in a raggedy t-shirt and gym shorts, eyes mostly closed. He pushes a few buttons on the coffee maker, shambles over to Coulson, unabashedly wraps his arms around his waist and leans on him.

Bruce cocks his head in confusion. Tony, through a series of facial expressions and hand gestures, conveys the information they got out of Natasha earlier. Bruce goes back to his eggs with a look of mild amazement on his face. Coulson says something that makes Clint laugh and they both walk over to the table.

After several minutes of awkward silence broken only by chewing, Coulson clears his throat. “So, what do you all do for fun around here?”

Steve, caught in a mental loop of defensiveness and doubt, enthusiastically replies: “Stuff!”

The table is somehow more silent than before, aside from Clint’s cackling. Coulson valiantly tries to save the conversation. “Oh? What kind of stuff?”

“There’s a gym,” Tony says, pinching himself hard under the table to avoid joining Clint in hysterics. “And we have movies nights quite frequently. Not much else that isn’t scientific or alcohol-related, I’m afraid. I hope you won’t be too bored.”

“Not at all. I think some down time is just what I need.” He finishes what’s left on his plate and stands. “Clint, get a hold of yourself or come with me. I’ll see you guys later.”

Coulson leaves and Clint follows, still giggling into his coffee. Steve thumps his head down on the table and groans. “This is going to be a long week.”

_Day 3_

Tony seems to start suffering from premature cabin fever, and spends the entire third day seeking Coulson out wherever he is and having odd conversations with him. He appears to be trying to get him to say specific words, for no obvious reason. Steve gets sick of wrangling him away from the agent and calls a movie night.

The next movie on the Let’s Get Steve to Watch All the Great American Movies He Missed Project (patent held by Stark Industries) list is _West Side Story_. Everyone’s content with this, because although it’s never voiced, they all have varying levels of appreciation for musicals.

Bruce silently picks a chair on the far side of the room. Tony and Steve instinctively cuddle on the couch. Coulson positions himself beside Steve, with his opposite arm politely around Clint’s shoulders. The combination puts a rather uncharacteristic grin on his face as Natasha hands out the popcorn. “My high school put on a production of this. It was a lot of fun.”

Steve looks surprised. “I had no idea you were musically talented, sir.”

“Oh no, I’m not. I was stage manager.” Coulson waves his hand a little too quickly. “It was good experience for my current career, actually. Nothing like herding melodramatic teenagers on a tiny park stage to teach you how to keep cool under pressure.”

Tony leans around Steve, grinning gleefully. “Sorry, I couldn’t quite hear you. What kind of stage was it?”

“Tiny one in the park. Gazebo, really.”

“Aha!” Tony applauds himself. “I knew it! Gentlemen and lady, I have deduced the legendary Agent Coulson. You don’t have to bow before me, but you may, if you are so inclined.”

“What have you deduced, exactly?” Steve asks, one hand poised to cover Tony’s mouth the second he gets inappropriate.

“You,” Tony points dramatically at Coulson before Steve smacks his arm down. “Spent a decent amount of your formative years in Boston, didn’t you?”

“Tony, what the hell is wrong with you.”

“Are you drunk?”

Coulson gets an unusual glint in his eye. “If ‘all of them’ qualifies as a decent amount, then yes.”

“He was right?”

“How did you figure that out, exactly?”

“Easy. Simple observation.” Tony leans back into the couch. “If you listen very closely to Agent Coulson’s speaking patterns, you’ll notice a slight broadening of the A and an even slighter lack of emphasis on the R.”

“I worked long and hard to get rid of that accent. I’m surprised you were able to pick it up at all.”

“Why would you get rid of an accent?” Steve asks, genuinely confused. “I mean, I’ve got one. I see no reason to get rid of it.”

“No, Captain, what you have is a _lilt_.” Coulson holds up one finger, pointing at Steve, then himself. “What _I_ had was a voice like JFK without the nasal tone. That stopped being cute pretty quick in my first semester of college.”

A murmur of surprise goes up around the room. Tony puts his hands behind his head and looks proud of himself. “Thanks to my deductions, you all now know a little more about our houseguest. You’re welcome.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I would like to formally apologize for buying Tony those _Sherlock Holmes_ audio books. After this is over, I will go sit in a corner and think about what I’ve done. JARVIS, please start the movie.”

As the movie starts, Clint smiles to himself. He already knew about Phil’s accent. A while back, before the Avengers, they’d driven up to clean out the Coulson family home after his mother had died. Clint was cleaning furniture in the attic when he’d found an old TV and some VCR tapes. The one he happened to put in showed a grainy, thirteen-year-old Phil. His heavily accented and cracking pubescent voice expressing appreciation for his new trampoline, which took up most of the small backyard. Clint didn’t notice Phil was in the room until he pointed at the pretty brown-haired girl on the trampoline with him and said that she was his first kiss, but that it happened a few years after the video was taken.

It wasn’t one of their happier road trips, but it was one of the most memorable. Reminiscing on it makes Clint doze off by the end of Act One.

The movie ends and Steve has a bit of a frown on his face. “Sad, but I really liked it. What should we watch next time?” Everyone jumps in with suggestions, because the last time they’d let Steve pick the movie, he’d insisted on picking off a list of movies people should see before they die. That was the day everyone learned that the only thing sadder than watching a particular World War Two movie, was watching Steve watch it.

Coulson jostles the sleeping ball of Hawkeye tucked under his arm. “Clint, wake up. The movie’s over.”

Clint yawns and stretches. “How’d it end?”

“The Jets were actually aliens and there was a laser battle set to music.” Coulson pulls Clint off the couch and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“Mmm.” Clint leans on Phil’s shoulder and practically goes to sleep again.

They head for the elevator, but Tony crawls across the couch to stop them. “If I take you out to a five-star dinner, could I get you to say ‘park the car in Harvard Yard’ for me?”

Coulson checks to make sure Clint’s ninety percent asleep and lowers his voice before letting the accent out. “No, you couldn’t. But the dinner sounds like it could be _wicked_ fun.”

Tony falls off the couch laughing and declaring his love for the agent. Coulson leaves to the sounds of Steve threatening to lock the liquor cabinet permanently.

_Day 4_

“Um, Captain? Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Steve looks down from where he’s suspended on the chin-up bar. Coulson is standing there in workout clothes with a towel around his neck, an unusual sight. “Go ahead. But just ‘Cap’ is fine.”

“Okay, Cap.” Coulson fidgets briefly, the word sounds disrespectful on his tongue. “I guess you can call me ‘Phil.’ If you’d like. But anyways, ah, Clint had an idea for dinner tonight?”

“If it involves him cooking, my answer is yes.” Steve’s concerns about the agent analyzing their lives have somewhat faded now that he feels like he knows the guy a little more.

Coulson laughs too loudly. “Yeah, he has a bit of a talent that way. But what he was thinking was, since we’re all stuck in here with so little to do. That he and I, and yourself and Tony, could have dinner together? Just the four of us?”

“Like a double date?”

“I suppose so.” Coulson scratches the back of his neck. He must sound like a complete idiot. “I already talked to Banner and Natasha. Banner is more than happy to have an uninterrupted evening in his lab. Natasha is content to have a night alone doing...whatever it is she does.”

Steve drops down from the bar and grabs his own towel. “To be honest, I’m surprised Clint would suggest something like that.” He’s still a little worried about Bruce, and eager to prove that the patchwork lifestyle they have here is valid and safe. Clint’s shenanigans might throw a wrench into that, even if he is Coulson’s partner.

“Yeah, well, not to worry! I wouldn’t have brought the idea to you unless I was sure he wasn’t going to pull some kind of juvenile prank.” So Coulson can mind-read now. Not creepy at all. “Clint’s like this, you see, he just kind of, comes out with these things.”

“Spontaneously sentimental? I know the type.”

“That, combined with completely random urges to bake. I don’t understand that second part, but I appreciate it. Ha ha.”

“Well, it sounds like it could be fun.” Steve heads for the door. “I’ll go tell Tony. Just have JARVIS call us down when you’re ready. See you later, Phil.”

“Bye, Cap!” He dashes a text message off to Clint as soon as the doors close. “What did I come in here for- Right.”

* * *

Hours later, the four men are seated at the round table in Clint’s kitchenette. Tony tosses out compliments in between mouthfuls of food, and Steve agrees with each one, but pauses in his devouring long enough to raise a concern.

“I feel bad. Clint made all the food and you’re both hosting us, this doesn’t feel fair at all. Tony and I’ll help clean up when we’re all done.”

“It really wasn’t any trouble. But if it makes you feel any better, I made the fries.”

“Are these homemade? I haven’t had homemade fries since I was a kid!”

“Did your mom make them for you, too?”

Tony watches the back and forth for a few minutes. He pulls out his phone and scoots his chair closer to Clint. “Calling it. Five fifty-one p.m. Cause of conversation death: First degree homicide.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “Oh? How do you figure?”

Tony gestures to their boyfriends, who are talking each other’s ears off about food and baseball and everything else. “You planned this all along, didn’t you?”

Clint gives him the snark-grin. “Yeah. Problem?”

“No, no.” Tony does the scratch-your-beard-to-cover-your-mouth trick. “I’m sure it’s not easy having to share the person you love with Captain America.”

Clint does the same trick, even though he barely has a five o’clock shadow. “I imagine it’s about the same as sharing them with the world’s number one fanboy, except with more obliviousness.”

“Yeah, that’s about right.” Tony looks back at the pair, who are talking so animatedly that bits of food keep dropping off their forks. Coulson has his chin propped up with one hand. It’s priceless. “So, how do we proceed from here?”

“Well, eventually they’ll notice the time, feel guilty, and invite us back into the conversation, so we should keep one ear open. But for now,” Clint slips a deck of cards out of his pants pocket and starts dealing under the table. “The name of the game is Crazy Eights.”

Clint wins eight games. Tony wins seven. Phil and Steve...

“-Bucky and I had this really nice wagon- Well, it started out really nice anyways. We hit so many trees that the paint came right off. I’m genuinely amazed we made it to high school without major brain damage.”

“No kidding. My mom was all about counterculture for a while and bought me an Easy Bake Oven. The other boys made fun of me, but the girls just loved coming over to my house. Unfortunately, the day came where I inadvertently diverted the affections of a classmate of mine’s ‘girlfriend.’”

“Uh oh, playground love triangles are serious stuff.”

“Indeed. He was a year older than me and twice my size. He beat me up so bad I couldn’t even go to school the next day. I ran into him years later in university. He was leading a non-violence demonstration.”

“Hah! That’s great! And the girl?”

“Came out as a lesbian in the eleventh grade and left school to backpack across Europe. Isn’t that always the way?”

“The universe certainly has an odd sense of humour. I could spin you a few interesting yarns about getting beat up...”

“Please do, I’m all ears.”

_Day 5_

Thor dropped by to see how everyone was doing. Tony decided to throw a pool party since the gang was all there.

Thor decided to cannonball like he’d seen on TV. Pool party was abruptly cancelled on account of pool damage and a near-Hulk experience.

Coulson stumbles across Thor soon afterwards. He’s hunched over something at the kitchen table and muttering to himself. “Hey, what are you doing?”

Thor’s concentration breaks immediately and he looks at the agent, but doesn’t smile. Still feeling guilty from earlier. “Hello, Son of-”

“Coulson. Just Coulson is fine.”

“Very well, Coulson. I am attempting to do as the Captain does, and draw to ‘sort things out’ in my mind. But I confess, I am not finding my results as satisfactory as his.”

Coulson leans in and peers at Thor’s sketchbook. “The Captain studied this sort of thing for a short time, so of course his are going to be a little more, refined. But that doesn’t matter, keep doing it if you like it.”

Thor rolls his pencil between his enormous fingers, it splinters under the strain. “I suppose you are right.”

Coulson leans over a little farther. “Is that a Bilgesnipe?”

Thor brightens instantly. “It is indeed! I’m surprised you remember our little talk about that.”

“It was hard to forget. And that drawing is a rather accurate representation, judging by your description. I have to say, I’m glad we don’t have those here.”

“They are rather beastly, but you can always count on them to liven things up. Here,” Thor tears the small cartoon out of the sketchbook, inadvertently revealing a doodle of his and Dr. Foster’s initials in a heart. “Since you shall probably never see a real one, here is a ‘rather accurate representation’ of one.”

Coulson takes the paper and smoothes the torn edges. “Thank you, but you really shouldn’t tear things out of your book.”

“I have no need for it anymore, someone else might as well enjoy it.” Thor gathers his things and stands. “You’ll have to excuse me, I’m dining with Darcy tonight. Farewell, Coulson!”

Coulson waves the god off and looks at the cartoon again. An abstract scrawl, but a bilgesnipe nonetheless. He takes his wallet out, tucks the carefully folded drawing inside, and turns around to find Natasha smiling at him.

“With all due respect, sir, I must say that you-”

“With all due respect, Agent Romanov, if you are about to use the descriptor I think you are about to use, I’ll have to send you on a year-long observation mission in Mongolia.”

“But sir-”

“Two years.”

The smile curls wider. “In that case, I would like to say that you are a very _encouraging_ man.”

“Thank you, Agent. I try.”

_Day 6_

It takes two and a half hours for Bruce to realize that his glasses don’t fit because they aren’t his. It’s a good thing Genius Cards aren’t actually real, or he would have his revoked.

JARVIS directs him to the living room, and he almost doesn’t see Coulson at first. He’s curled into a chair off to the side, fixated on the thick, plain hardcover book in his hands. He’s done away with the formality of a few days ago and is just in a grey t-shirt and khakis. Bruce feels rude disturbing him. “I believe these are yours?”

Coulson takes a second to flicker his eyes across a sentence before looking up. “Oh! I was wondering why mine felt so loose today. Thought I’d broken them again.”

“Yeah, guess we have the same prescription. Well, see you.” Bruce fumbles, trying to get the glasses properly into his front pocket as he darts from the room.

“Or not.” Coulson says, closing his book just as Bruce reaches the doorway. “Is something wrong, Doctor Banner? You’ve been avoiding me.”

Bruce taps his fingers on the doorway and just glances over his shoulder, trying to give the impression of a busy man with things to do and places to go. “What? No, it’s just...”

“You’re concerned that I’ve been analyzing everything from the loudness of the kitchen appliances to the sharp edges on the tables, and that the slightest sign of distress on your part will buy you a one-way ticket to mandatory S.H.I.E.L.D. quarters?”

Bruce looks pointedly over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re good.”

“Thank you. You have nothing to worry about. I’m not an icy social worker come to tear you away from your foster family. And even if I was, no way in hell would I be working while on medical leave.”

Bruce laughs as he feels something unclench inside his chest. “‘Foster family.’ That’s an interesting way to put it.”

“Just one way.”

Bruce makes his way back across the room, stopping and starting. Unsure if he’s intruding or not. “So, what are you reading?”

“ _The Return of the King_.” Coulson smiles at him, welcoming. “As much as I’m longing for some fresh air, it’s been awhile since I’ve been able to sit down and read a book or two.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Bruce rocks back on his heels, though he’s been told it’s a bad habit. “You know, I don’t think Cap’s seen those movies yet. If we have a movie night with them, maybe you could come?”

“Depends. Does Tony have the extended editions?”

“No, but um, I do.”

“Excellent. Consider this my blanket R.S.V.P., provided I’m of sound mind and body at the time of the event.” He opens his book and smiles again. “Nice talking to you, Doctor Banner.”

“Yeah, same.” Bruce nods and takes the escape he was given. He stops at the doorway again. “Uh, since we’re not working, ‘Bruce’ is fine.”

“Same goes for ‘Phil.’ Good luck with your experiments.” A nod. Another nod in return. Bruce is gone to his lab and Phil is gone to Middle Earth.

_Day 7_

Clint Barton isn’t Clint Barton’s biggest fan right now.

Of _course_ , he’d get into a fight with Phil on the second-to-last day before medical came and cleared them for work. It was bad enough that Phil had gone and slept in one of the spare floors. And it was such a _stupid_ fight.

Clint had, for no reason at all, been in a nasty mood all day. He’d tried to work it out in the gym all day, to no avail. He’d gone to his room intending to sleep it off. Phil was there and made some completely innocuous comment,- Wow, Clint couldn’t even remember what it was, that was really bad, -and Clint responded by biting his head off. You know, rather than just saying he was in a bad mood and asking to be left alone, like an adult.

Phil reacted appropriately, of course. Clint then twisted the comment and acted like Phil was accusing him of something, like a fucking spoiled child. The argument got to the point that Clint realized he was being ridiculous, but felt like explaining himself now would make him look like an idiot. Idiot is right.

He was going to take a shower, but he’d only gotten his shirt off and was now kind of creepily watching Phil get dressed through the cracked open door. Guilt makes people do strange things. A text to Natasha yielded the advice of “Use your adult words.” Well, that was better than his current strategy. Might as well.

Clint exits the bathroom, rushes across his bedroom, and wraps his arms around Phil from behind. He throws all the adult words he knows against the back of his neck, hoping they work. “I’m sorry I was such a colossal bag of dicks last night. I was in a bad mood and I took it out on you for no reason. I feel awful and I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

Phil rests his arms on the ones wrapped around his waist. “Apology accepted. It’s over. You don’t have to feel awful anymore.”

Clint leans into Phil because he likes doing that. Letting Phil hold him up. And it’s all the better for Phil not having his shirt on yet. “No, come on. That was really stupid. I should-”

“Stop acting like a child who thinks I love them less when I’m mad at them?” Phil turns a hundred and eighty degrees and hugs Clint tightly enough to make him say “Oof.” “Yes, you should get right on that.”

“You’re too much.”

“And you’re very warm. Have you ever checked to see if you have a higher-than-normal body temperature? I think you do.”

“Don’t change the subject! I’m trying to be all mature-like here.”

“Can you be all mature-like while I get some breakfast?” Phil kisses him, releases him, and goes to grab a t-shirt out of a borrowed drawer. Clint does the same, glad that they’ve reached the “what’’s mine is yours” point in their relationship.

They’re relatively silent until they reach the kitchen. Clint hates walking and talking if he’s not on a battlefield. It’s empty, because it’s actually closer to lunchtime. Phil likes to sleep in. “Last night got to me because of what we were talking about the other day. How are we supposed to spend the rest of our lives together if within a week I’m turning into a complete jackass?”

“That’s not really a fair comparison. When we’re married,- Please pass me the bacon, -we won’t be incapable of leaving the house and getting proper alone time. We’ve been stuck in here for a week. Everybody else is just as stir-crazy.”

Clint nods after a moment. He realizes he’s seen less and less of his teammates over the past couple days. “You said when.”

“Yes, I did. Are you having second thoughts?”

“No! No, I just thought you were looking at it as a possibility, not as a definite thing.”

“I didn’t want to pressure you. But I do have important reasons for wanting to go through with it.”

“Such as?”

“If I die,” Phil lowers his voice to match the dark subject. “There’s certain things you’d be entitled to as my husband that you aren’t as my ‘boyfriend.’” Phil hates that word, but it’s the least clinical-sounding of the available options.

Clint crosses his arms and leans back against the fridge. “You want to marry me so I can get your pension if you get killed.”

Phil pauses his cooking efforts long enough to shoot Clint an exasperated look. “Among other things. Clint, I’ll sleep easier if I know you’ll be taken care of in case anything happens to me.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“You know if it was just that, I’d call in a favour from Fury and have him bullshit some paperwork.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Because I know how important getting married is to you, and that means it’s important to me, too.” Silence. “I’m not doing this just to placate you or take care of you. If I get to grow old, I want to grow old with you. Brat.”

Clint walks around to Phil’s other side and leans on his shoulder. “You are going to be one distinguished-looking son of a bitch when you’re old. I can see it already.”

“Can you, now?” Phil laughs a little. “There’s something else we need to discuss. I’ve given it some thought, and I think the best option would be for us to keep living apart.”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“Well, you can’t move out of here, obviously, and I can’t move in.”

“Yes you can!”

“That’s not your call to make. I don’t think everyone else would be happy with someone who is, in oversimplified terms, their boss living with them twenty-four-seven. It’ll be just the same as always, that’s not so bad.”

“Phil, for chrissakes!” Clint grabs his shoulders and turns Phil to face him. “If you’re going to be my husband, we’re going to live together and that’s all there is to it!”

Clint’s going in for a kiss to take the edge off his sharp words, but he stops. Phil’s face is flushed and frowning at something over his shoulder. Oh, right. The kitchen has two entrances. “How many?”

“All of them.”

“Even Thor?”

“Okay, almost all of them.” Clint takes a deep breath and turns around to face his teammates, who all have various levels of confusion plastered on their faces. Phil rests a hand on his hip. “You’ll have to forgive Clint’s, ah, over-enthusiasm. Please know that I would never consider moving in or having Clint move out unless everyone was in complete agreement on the subject.”

“Well, Clint moving out isn’t a good option at all.” Steve says, crossing his arms. “But I’d be more than happy to see you move in. What about you, Bruce?”

“I’d be completely fine with that.”

Steve nods. “Natasha?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

“Okay. Tony, it’s your house. Your vote carries the most weight.”

Tony stops gulping his coffee and looks at the expectant faces around him. “Do you _really_ expect me to say no? Yeah. ‘Congratulations on the wedding Clint, sorry I’m such a cold-hearted bastard that I won’t let your husband live here!’ Besides, it’s Coulson. If he caught laryngitis you’d never even know he was here.”

“That’s Tony’s way of saying you’ve been an excellent houseguest.” Steve rolls his eyes and smiles for Coulson. “I’m sure Thor will be just as agreeable. Let us know when you’re ready and we’ll help you move your stuff.”

“And by help we mean hire people to do so.”

“Tony- Oh, nevermind.”

Clint grins and leans back to kiss Phil demonstratively on the cheek. “It’s what I was about to tell you, they’d love to have you here.”

“Come on, Clint.” Natasha grabs Clint’s hand and starts dragging him away. “You promised me a sparring session. Congratulations on the engagement, sir.”

“No, wait-” Clint just smiles and waves at Phil as he leaves, for once not at all interesting in contradicting anything. “We don’t really have a set-”

“Yeah, congrats.” Tony claps Coulson on the arm as he walks by. “Leave the reception planning to me. I won’t fail you.”

“But-”

“Congratulations, Phil.” Bruce says, stopping for a moment before hurrying to catch up with Tony.

Coulson sighs and starts scraping his slightly burned bacon out of the pan. So many things had just happened in five minutes that it makes him forget there’s one more Avenger in the room.

“Congratulations on getting engaged, Phil. Sorry about spying on you. Tony messaged us and said to come up here quickly. We thought aliens were invading or something.” Steve presses an enormous hand to Phil’s shoulder. “You must be happy, though. Getting married is really something to look forward to.”

“Thank you, Cap, I am. It’s definitely an exciting thing.”

“So it should be. Clint’s a very lucky man.” Steve flashes him that winning Captain America smile. “I have to go help help Tony and Bruce with an experiment. Talk to you later!”

That was the day Phil had bacon and coffee for breakfast. He was too busy screaming internally to make anything else.

**_ FIN _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone not familiar with the Boston accent, “wicked” is a distinctly Bostonian way of saying “a lot of.” I do love me some local dialects.
> 
> How does Steve know what Easy Bake Ovens are? You may draw your own conclusions, I’d love to hear them.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [If All This Was Easy, It Wouldn't Matter How It Ends](https://archiveofourown.org/works/547520) by [baconnegg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baconnegg/pseuds/baconnegg)




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